


Carve Your Kisses in My Skin

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, High School AU, M/M, Rimming, Ziam fetus au, ziam, ziam smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do they know about love? They're just teens living in anarchy, chasing the sun, watching the clouds, hanging onto their youth... kissing their best mates in the dark.  Well, at least, that's what Liam's doing.  And he's not really sure what this sinking feeling is when he's touching Zayn but it burns away when Zayn kisses him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carve Your Kisses in My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic started out as something completely different, darker, but I sort of need a break from the MAJOR angst, so it turned into something else. A little more playful, fluffy (if you could call it that). I hope it's still as enjoyable because it was a little idea I had about writing young Zayn and Liam as best friends who learn a lot along the way.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to [Lea](http://wafflehood.tumblr.com) ([wafflehood](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflehood/pseuds/wafflehood)) who asked for a fic featuring tension between Zayn and Liam. I don't know how well I did with that prompt, but I'm hoping she likes it because she's done a lot of great things for me!
> 
> WARNINGS: There's quite a bit of smut in this fic. Quite a bit of smut between two consenting sixteen year old boys. Hopefully that's not too offensive. There's some mention of underage drinking/drug use as well. Also, there have been some changes made for the sake of plot to the boys' ages, British schooling, time difference, etc. Nothing super big though :)

He doesn’t think he really knows what it feels like – being in love.

“Oh honey, one day you’re going to fall in love just like this,” Liam’s mum tells him while being spun around the kitchen by his father, the sweet sounds of the Zombies playing over that old radio his parents refuse to throw out even though it’s static-y and only picks up three stations – _It’s the time of the season for loving_.

His father dips her, the squeal from Ruth nearly leaving him deaf but Nicola’s scoffing with a grin, easing by them to finish her chat on the phone.

“But son,” his dad starts, his grin thick and unabashed, “make sure that whoever it is, you feel it in your gut like I did with this one.”

His mum is a fit of giggles, smacking at his chest as he peppers kisses to her cheeks – _Tell it to me slowly, I really want to know. It’s the time of the season for loving_ – and they waltz around the breakfast table, eyes on each other, swallowed in some sort of reverie that Liam doesn’t quite get but he smiles loftily at them.

“Gross!” Ruth shrieks when his dad presses another sloppy kiss to his mum’s cheek, Liam’s eyes big and bright with some sort of numbing joy.

He’s ten years old when he realizes love is something he can’t wait to hold in the palm of his hand, gripping it tightly like his father’s hand on his mum’s hip.

**

“I don’t think I’m a proper good kisser.”

He’s fifteen when this starts.  He’s not sure what to call it, nor does he try to find a definition for it.  It’s just silly thoughts, the way his brain operates on meaningless subjects that he tries not to speak aloud but, in times like this, he just sort of blurts it out.

Zayn hums, lifting his head a little.

Zayn, who’s been his best mate ever since Andy got shipped off to boarding school – Honestly, he doesn’t know what made Andy think that firecrackers and the school’s loo mixed, but Andy always lived life by thinking after taking action – a few years back.  Zayn, who was quiet more than talkative, brilliant and even a little funny when he tried.  He was thoughtful, patient when he tried because, honestly, how could you be with mates like Liam or the others?  He was nothing like Louis or Niall – two natural disasters tearing through their school.  Or Harry, who was cheeky and flirty.  Harry, who walked through life confused but happy.  He was unlike Louis, who blitzed through life like a hurricane with his endless chatter and commotion.

He’s not sure _how_ they worked, him and Zayn, but they did.  They got on the moment Zayn’s family moved to town when they were eleven and two silly kids running the playground in junior school.  They fit better than Liam and Louis – which was almost unimaginable because he and Louis have been inseparable since they were five years old – and Zayn seemed to cling to him more than he did Harry or Niall, something Liam tries not to grin too smugly about but he can’t help it.  He _likes_ Zayn.

“I don’t know,” Liam says with a shrug when Zayn stares blankly at him.  “I just think I’m probably a shit kisser.”

Zayn grins, the corners of his mouth curling like they always do when Liam swears.  It’s a rare thing – well, it was until he started paying more attention to Harry and Niall, who cursed like it was the first few words they learned as toddlers – but Liam refuses to blush at it like he used to, before they all became this pile of friends, clutching onto each other for dear life.

“You sound as if you’ve had loads of complaints,” Zayn says, his voice hushed but Liam can hear the smirk in his tone.

They’re on the floor, leaning against Harry’s bed while Harry and Niall compete over who can snore the loudest – Niall has a very narrow lead, so far.  The room’s shrouded in darkness, the pale light of the moon pushing through Harry’s window to shine over strips of the cluttered room.  Harry’s spread out like a starfish on the bed, head tipped back with his mouth open, curls strewn across the sheets.  Niall’s curled up near the headboard, hugging onto one of Harry’s pillows.  Louis snuggled to Harry’s side, fringe nearly covering his eyes with that peaceful, almost innocent look he only manages to pull off when he’s sleep.  They’re a heap of teenage boys too knackered from their annual film night – something Harry invented as a good excuse to shove his favorite films in their faces every other Saturday night, not that any of them minded a night of laughs, cans of Coke, and popcorn – and coming down from that high of orange soda, Twizzlers, chocolate candy bars, and caramel popcorn.

Liam smirks, pulling his fingers through his thick, straight hair.  “Sod off.  There have been no complaints.”

“Oh, Liam not getting any love from the _ladies_?  Doesn’t know how to give a proper snog,” Zayn teases, his voice lifting an octave as he reaches out, ruffling his fingers through Liam’s hair, effectively messing up whatever style Liam had just tried to create.  He’s giggling softly, pulling back a little when Liam swats at his hand.

“You’re rubbish,” Liam says through a grin, inching closer to Zayn.  He doesn’t pull back when Zayn yanks Liam’s arm into his lap, plucking a Sharpie from the floor to doodle on the inside of Liam’s arm.  The pressure of the tip is light, the drag peeling across his skin but he doesn’t mind.

He watches the moon streak over Zayn’s face, his head bowed with his mouth set in concentration.  His tongue is licking out, a grin pushing at the corners of his mouth as he moves the Sharpie over Liam’s skin.  It’s a quiet moment that only they share – when the others are too distracted with giving each other shit, making stupid jokes, chasing each other around a room like children.  Liam thinks it calms Zayn, takes him out of this world that sometimes feels too big, too loud, too bright for Zayn.  The same Zayn who spends most of his time huddled in a corner, writing or reading and watching the world go by rather than participating in it.

Sometimes Liam wonders if that’s what drew him to Zayn in the first place.  Those soft caramel eyes that watched from afar and never made Liam feel small and insignificant.  No, in Zayn’s eyes, Liam’s a glowing star, burning sharply against the neon swirls of the world.

The bluish hue of the light strokes the soft features of Zayn’s face.  It coats his olive skin, those thick eyebrows, his full bottom lip that Zayn keeps tugging on with his teeth.  His hair is thick and flat on his head, dark fringe sweeping over his forehead and it makes him look anything but fifteen.  Liam thinks if it wasn’t for that thin, shadowy scruff that Zayn has to shave off twice a week, he’d never pass for a mature teenager.  His irises are a swirl of honey and rust brown, long lashes framing those eyes that Liam finds himself more and more enthralled with.

“You really think you’re that bad?” Zayn asks, his head still lowered as he etches a Batman emblem just above Liam’s wrist.

Liam grins down at it, his teeth sinking into his own lip.  “I don’t quite know.  I suppose so.”

Zayn snorts, his head finally lifting.  He’s a dizzying burst of smiles, bright eyes, wondrous excitement that Liam thinks shines only for him.  It’s a numbing thought but not one he runs from.

“C’mere,” Zayn whispers, capping the Sharpie and dropping it between his legs.

Liam quirks an eyebrow, rubbing at the back of his neck.  He tries not to shoot Zayn a worried look but he fails, Zayn’s brow dropping a little.

Zayn sighs, his smile still brighter than a galaxy of newborn stars.  “C’mon Liam.  Come closer.”

There’s questions resting on the edge of his tongue, his mind buzzing far too quickly but he scoots closer until their thighs are touching and the breath between them is shared.  He moves the hand in Zayn’s lap to his thigh, an uncertain squeeze that has Zayn resting a hand on top of Liam’s, fitting his fingers between Liam’s spread ones.

“Kiss me.”

“Zayn, _what_?”

Zayn lets out a clipped laugh, his nose crinkling.  “Kiss me, Liam.  I’m your best mate and if anyone is going to be honest about whether or not you’re shit at this, it’s going to be me.”

It makes no sense.  It’s rubbish.  Yet, Liam still tries to piece all the points together until it sounds a little sensible.  He repeats the words in his head until it doesn’t sound foreign, unheard of.  In fact, it sounds _brilliant_.  It makes sense because Zayn is his best mate, the one person Liam relies on for everything.  He’s the person who is always most honest with Liam – well, except Louis but Louis’ way of honesty is a bit brash and hurtful – and the one person Liam’s learned to trust with more than just his friendship a long time ago.

“C’mon, babe,” Zayn whispers, his lips tipping into a wider grin.  He’s cupping Liam’s chin, drawing him in with gentle fingers, those long lashes batting over his soft cheeks.  “I won’t bite.  But you can if it’s part of your technique.”

Liam rolls his eyes, his own cheeks pushing high while listening to Zayn’s snicker.  “You’re mental.”

“Oh, why so harsh?” Zayn says teasingly, those fingers shifting up Liam’s face when Liam’s close enough.  They push those thick bangs from Liam’s eyes, sweeping them to the side before trickling back down to his cheek, cupping it.

Liam takes a deep breath, holding it in his chest before surging those last few breaths that’s separating them.  His lips crush against Zayn’s clumsily, his face scrunching because, fuck, he’s doing this all _wrong_.  He’s moving a little too quickly, without finesse, nothing like the way he sees people kissing in the films Harry makes them watch – Honestly, there’s but so many times fifteen year olds, fourteen in Harry’s case, can watch _Pretty Woman_ without wanting to hurl a shoe at the telly or figure out how to find a fit woman like Julia Roberts to spend a week with one of them – and he wants it to be so much better.

He exhales a shaky breath, slowing himself, fingers digging into Zayn’s thigh until Zayn’s thumb sweeps comforting touches over the back of his hand.  He stills himself for a moment, resting his lips against Zayn’s for a beat before moving again.  It’s a slow glide, the way his lips move over Zayn’s.  They’re chapped, a bit rough but Zayn doesn’t seem to mind, remaining still for a few more seconds before he’s leaning in, kissing Liam back.

Zayn kisses like he draws – with strict concentration and an ease that Liam can’t help but envy.  They find a rhythm, still a bit off and uncoordinated but it works.  It swallows Liam, the way their teeth clink against each other with Liam’s hand resting on the nape of Zayn’s neck and Zayn’s fingers brushing gently over his cheek leaves him sinking in thoughts that become hazy right along the edge.  It’s a slow motion movement, all of his thoughts colliding before he can do anything to stop them.

Zayn tastes like citrus, sweets, everything a teenage boy should taste like who’s spent half the day munching on unhealthy things with a grin and big eyes.  He tilts his head a little, catching Zayn’s bottom lip between his and he doesn’t miss the way Zayn flicks his tongue out to wet his lips when Liam draws back for a second to catch his breath.  He dives back in, Zayn’s fingers tangling into his hair for a beat while Liam tries to regain what little control he once had but it’s painfully difficult when his mind is wrapped tightly around one word – _Zayn_.

Honestly, he likes kissing Zayn.  It’s soft, without pretense, and, for once, he doesn’t feel like he’s trying to prove how great he is to someone.  Zayn knows how great he is.  Zayn knows him.  And Zayn makes him feel like the world is spinning backwards and upside down all at once.

Liam pulls back a little regretfully, almost missing the smile that sweeps over Zayn’s lips when the clouds shift across the moon.  He’s a little breathless, his chest wheezing breaths in and out while Zayn rubs absently at his lips.  He wonders if there’s blush feathering Zayn’s cheeks the way it is Liam’s when Zayn looks at him but it’s too dark to tell.  He settles for rubbing his hand slowly over Zayn’s thigh, settling his breathing when Zayn’s hand moves with his.

“Was it terrible?” Liam wonders, his brow furrowing.

Zayn snorts, pushing his fingers through Liam’s hair.  “You’re a shit liar.”

Liam hums, his eyes growing.  “I’m what?”

Zayn playfully punches his arm, something Liam doesn’t really feel because Zayn’s shit at throwing a punch and they both know it.

“You’re fine, Liam.  Just need a little practice,” Zayn insists, grinning while shyly dropping his eyes away from Liam’s face.  It’s endearing in the most pleasant way.

“You’re sure?” Liam wonders, turning his hand over in Zayn’s lap.  It’s a comforting wave washing over him when Zayn’s hand remains, curling their fingers together.

“Just shut it, Payne,” Zayn snickers, nudging his shoulder to Liam’s.  The shadows subside a little, the light a shimmer of white now across Zayn’s face and Liam’s stare lingers in that glow for a moment.

“Okay.”

“Do you want,” Zayn swallows, looking up again, “to maybe try a little more?”

Liam doesn’t hesitate with a nod.  He doesn’t know why, his stomach coiled up in a tight ball that leaves him shaking and uncertain but he wants it.  Fuck, he doesn’t know why but he wants to kiss some more.  He wants to kiss Zayn some more.  He wants to kiss Zayn.

He kisses Zayn.

He does it with fear and worry and concern for a friendship that kind of happened without them trying weighing on him.  He melds their mouths together, smiling on the surprised gasp Zayn’s lips release, and hovers on the wave of bliss that follows when Zayn starts to kiss him back.  He angles his head this time, the softest hint of pressure and Zayn’s moving with him.  Their lips form a pattern of _push_ , pull, _lick_ , touch, _taste_ , repeat.  It’s a dancing flame in the wind and, yeah, Liam thinks Zayn’s more than amazing at this.

There’s a soft burn from Zayn’s light stubble, the way it drags over his chin and against his skin.  Zayn’s fingers are pressing down on the back of his neck, probably leaving behind small marks that Liam won’t be able to see but maybe he’ll _feel_ them later.  He’s taking notes at the way Zayn’s tongue sweeps over his bottom lip but never presses forward unlike Emily, his first real kiss, who was nothing but tongue and orange bubblegum the first few times they kissed.  He’s gentle but thorough, not like Shannon, who was quick pecks and apple chapstick.

Liam tries to perfect the way his lips fit against Zayn’s, the soft glide but it comes off sloppy and desperate, their foreheads and noses bumping.  It does little to slow his resolve, his fingers curling under Zayn’s chin with soft apologies brushing their lips until he can center Zayn’s head again and push just a bit tamer this time.  He stifles a feeling burning at his chest, the way he can’t help but lose himself for a moment.  The way Zayn’s mouth moves, – rhythm and techno beats – he’s lightheaded and feverish with a flush to his cheeks and a stutter to his breathing.

Zayn pulls away first this time, rubbing at Liam’s shoulder as he draws completely back to tip his head back against Harry’s bed.  His eyes look a little glazed over but there’s something sweet settling into his smile.

“Getting better,” he says, his voice a bit raspier but it’s warm and friendly.

Liam smiles to himself, a quick flick of his head knocking those pesky bangs from his eyes and drawing up a wheezing laugh from Zayn.

Zayn’s hand drops away to cover his mouth as he lets out a soft yawn, heavy eyes blinking back sleep.

Liam nods at him, doesn’t say anything.  He doesn’t have to.  A quick glance at his watch reminds him it’s nearly two in the morning and, unlike the others, Zayn wasn’t much of a night person.  He was the one person Liam knew that savored sleep, snuck in a kip any chance he got even though it was summer – the one season where they were allowed to chase the sun and stumble into as much trouble as they could without being arrested.  But Zayn was still one of those in bed by midnight, sleep until noon lads and Liam didn’t ever give him shit about it.

“Sleep here with me,” Zayn requests with a sheepish grin.

Liam snorts at him; as if he’d ever do anything else.

“Of course you idiot,” Liam smiles out, reaching forward to ruffle Zayn’s hair this time.

Zayn doesn’t swat him away like he does anyone else who touches his hair – a cardinal sin that many of their classmates had to learn a long time ago.  He merely leans into the touch for a moment, Liam’s fingers sliding over Zayn’s scalp before nodding happily.

“Batman,” Zayn teases in a hushed voice, elbowing Liam’s side.

Liam chuckles through a breath, giving a soft tug to Zayn’s hair.  “Robin.”

“Why do I always have to be your sidekick?” Zayn groans, a poor attempt at a frown pushed over his lips.

Liam groans with a smirk, playfully shoving at Zayn’s shoulder.  “Nightwing?”

Zayn nods earnestly.  “Better.”

“Prick,” Liam snickers, pushing up onto his knees.

“Oi, you’re so rude.”

“Whatever,” Liam laughs out, dulling his voice when Louis stirs on the bed.  He waits until Harry secures an arm around Louis’ small frame, tugging him closer before snickering beneath a breath.

Harry’s room is stuffy and heady with the scent of teenage boy – dirty socks crumpled in the corner, a pair of Harry’s sweaty boxers balled just beneath the bed, the sticky scent of sweat, lingering body spray, and that awful cologne Louis wears.  Liam stands to shuck his chinos down his legs, kicking them to the side while Zayn spreads out the duvet and sheets across the floor, creating a makeshift bed for them; the same makeshift bed that they always laid out on.  Liam grins warmly, plopping down while watching Zayn fluff a pillow, lying down on the floor while propping himself up on an elbow.  That silly Guns ‘n Roses t-shirt stretches out across his back, shoulder blades prominent against the black material before Zayn’s glancing over his shoulder, giving Liam an expectant look.

Liam smiles to himself, recognizes the look as soon as he spots the concern rimming Zayn’s eyes, the slow pull on his mouth from a hovering frown.

They were twelve and had just seen _the Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ for the first time – some silly idea Louis came up with because he thought it would be a fantastic suggestion to watch any film with Jessica Biel and _“her glorious knockers bouncing around.”_   He remembers the way Zayn laid on the floor of Louis’ basement, trembling with thick tears clinging to the corners of his eyes, his teeth worrying his bottom lip until it was raw and cracked.  A heat spread over him, the thought of waiting until the others were asleep before he crawled closer to Zayn, offered wide arms for Zayn to scurry into.  A smile itches at his lips, remembering the way Zayn clung to him, his head pressed to Liam’s bare, flat chest while Liam secured his arms around Zayn and tangled their legs together beneath Liam’s itchy sleeping bag.  Zayn’s face was pressed to the crook of his neck, Liam’s chin resting on top of Zayn’s head and they fell asleep like that – two young boys holding onto each other until the morning drew them apart.

He slides forward almost immediately, pulling the sheets around them as he eases his arms around Zayn’s midsection and presses their bodies firmly together.  He snuggles his chest to Zayn’s back, ignoring the way Zayn’s body still is a bit wiry against his firmer form.  He hooks his chin over Zayn’s shoulder with a grin, waiting until Zayn tangles their legs together beneath the duvet and settles against the hard floor of Harry’s room.  He can see the smile prickling at Zayn’s lips, a sense of relief washing over him when Zayn’s fingers loosen their grip on the sheets to reach down and twine their fingers together, squeezing firmly like it’s okay.  He squeezes like this is all he needed – his best mate assuring him that the darkness crowding them, the silence of the night, other than Harry’s snores and Niall’s wheezing breaths – wouldn’t swallow him whole.

Liam shifts slowly, pulling Zayn in completely with the curve of Zayn’s bum pressing to Liam’s groin, their cold feet brushing, and Liam’s face snuggling to the crook of Zayn’s neck.  He smells like citrus body wash, chocolate, and warmth.  It cools Liam’s senses, listening to the soft yawn from Zayn that sounds something like a _‘goodnight’_ but Liam’s not too sure.  No, he’s sinking into his own exhaustion with Zayn pressed close.

He doesn’t worry about what the other boys will say in the morning.  They’ve all spent enough nights together where one has woken with a foot in his face, a knee between his thighs, an absentminded hand resting on his hip, a pair of lips pressed to his neck, and countless other shapes and forms for none of it to really matter anymore.  In fact, it’s what made it comforting for each of them – small touches here and there that reminded them that there’s no way they were facing any part of this life alone.  There was always a bond, just the five of them – occasionally Josh when his mum let him come by – that seemed to fit without any questions asked.

It was one of the few things in life Liam felt some sort of guarantee about: he and his mates.

**

He’s sixteen when the summer starts to fade off like some pinkish-orange cloud of smoke with the sun dipping into the horizon.  He can feel school aching at his bones and he’s not too upset about it.  It simply means less trips to the lake where he and Harry swim for hours while Louis sunbathes, Niall burns and pinks under the fury of the sun, and Zayn sits comfortably on the grass, sketching and grinning anytime Liam dashes out to the water to try and give him a damp hug.

He’s not entirely disappointed about the summer trailing off in its own hot blaze.  It means more training for upcoming tryouts for the cross country team – he still has hopes to make the Olympic team in Rio – and maybe he’ll be good enough to join Niall and Louis on the footie team this year.  None of it seems to matter because he knows he’ll have his best mates around, running the town like ambitious sixteen year olds – Harry’s still lifting his chin defiantly because fifteen isn’t that much of a difference, though Liam knows it really is – while trying to hold onto every bit of youth they’ve managed to maintain through every adventure they stumble upon.

It’s not until the day before school is to start that his world feels like it’s leaning on the edge, everything blurring into an awkward feeling of emptiness.  He knows they won’t lose this – the laughs, the secrets, the way they all know what the others thinking with just a look – but something goes steely cold inside himself.  He wonders if it’s because they won’t always have the same classes together, though they’ll all crowd around a small table in the corner of the cafeteria with grins and stories that’ll pull them into their own little world again.  Maybe it’s because Louis will be busy with football and academics while Harry will engage himself in his new job down at the bakery after school.  Niall will probably still hover around, crashing on Liam’s bedroom floor whenever the opportunity presents itself because, out of all of them, Niall truly was the one who needed that constant contact more than the rest.

He thinks Zayn will be there with his quiet smiles, tugging on the sleeve of Liam’s jumper until they’re both outside, sneaking behind the school so Zayn can huff a quick cigarette before the first bell rings.  He wants to believe that Zayn will still ride his skateboard over to Liam’s house after school, plopping down on Liam’s bed to read a few comics or chat about their stupid classes while Liam drags his fingers through Zayn’s product-stiff hair – it’s gotten longer throughout the summer and Liam likes how Zayn’s styling it into a quiff, something that seems richly cool and _very Zayn_.  There’s something in the pit of his stomach that reminds him that he and Zayn will probably still chase each other down to the lake until it gets too cold and bitter outside, choosing to huddle in Liam’s backyard instead while knocking shoulders and reminding each other that they’re complete idiots for no particular reason at all.

He rubs at his lips and wonders if maybe it’ll be just a little more.  Maybe Zayn will fall asleep on his shoulder while they study or Zayn won’t freak and tense up when Liam laces his fingers with Zayn’s while they watch a film.  He grins to himself, eyes shifting shut when he thinks about the way Zayn cuddled to him on their last film night – Zayn’s choice and, of course, it was _the Avengers_ despite Louis’ whining and Harry’s constant murmuring about how stupid the Hulk was.  No one said anything, Zayn’s fingers interlocked over Liam’s stomach while Liam leaned back into Zayn’s chest, head resting on Zayn’s shoulder while mouthing all of the dialogue along with Zayn.  Their whispers were quick, grins pressed to their lips, and Liam didn’t shove Zayn away anytime he felt the need to press a wet kiss to Liam’s cheek and remind him how adorable he is with his hair starting to curl at the ends.  He merely sighed into Zayn’s embrace and fell asleep with Zayn whispering into his ear, “you’re the best mate in the world and I love you.”

It’s the one thing that keeps him up far too late that night, tossing in his bed until he slides into a wrinkled t-shirt, finds his phone and sends a quick text – _come to mine. need you! meet you @ our spot… please??? ;)_ – before sliding into his dusty high top trainers and stumbling out of his room.  He’s quiet when he moves down the steps because it’s almost two in the morning and he doesn’t exactly think his parents would be okay with him not being asleep, let alone sneaking out of the backdoor of their house.

He doesn’t check his phone for a reply, merely pockets it when he gets outside.  He waits on the patio, eyeing the three concrete steps that lead to the backyard with heavy brown eyes.  He hugs his arms around himself, rocking back on his heels while the slightly cool breeze of a September wind sweeps over him in the dark.  He doesn’t have to wait long before the familiar sound of the wheels from a skateboard are grinding up his driveway, trainers squeaking through the grass as Zayn ditches his board in the bushes and rushes up to Liam.

Liam takes in a deep breath, doing his best to school his smile as he looks on Zayn.  He’s a little breathless from the ride over to Liam’s even though they’re merely a few roads down from each other.  Liam can smell the wavering scent of cigarette smoke, probably the one Zayn had before he hopped on his board.  His snapback is pulled on backwards, that thick, dark hair pushing out from beneath it with a shadowy scruff trying to mark his cheeks and chin.  His t-shirt is clinging to his small frame, the _‘Thank You’_ wrinkled and barely noticeable against the sharp red lettering in the middle: _Fuck You_.  His eyes are wide, the faint speckles of gold and amber hidden by the shadows of the night with those thick eyebrows set and his lips pulling into a frown.

“What’s a matter?” Zayn asks, still trying to catch his breath.

Liam shrugs with a small grin, rubbing patiently at the nape of his neck.

“Well come on then.  Tell me you didn’t call me out of my bed to sneak out for nothing,” Zayn huffs out, smacking Liam’s arm playfully before rubbing at it, the worry in his eyes thickening.  “Is something wrong at home?”

Liam shakes his head briskly, trying to even out his own breathing but there’s something heavy pressing on his chest.  There’s a feeling tightening in his stomach, something warm and unnatural with Zayn’s fingers stroking his bare arm, slipping under the sleeve of his shirt to brush against Liam’s shoulder.  The sole of his shoe drags over the concrete of the steeps.  He thinks to look away, corral his thoughts but that familiar look in Zayn’s eyes – his best mate, he reminds himself – drags that feeling in his chest lower until it’s pressing on his lungs.

“Liam, what is it?  You’re scaring me,” Zayn whispers, leaning in closer.

Liam sighs, giving into thoughts that feel foreign but not unwanted to his mind.

“C’mon,” Liam sighs out, blindly reaching out until he finds Zayn’s hand, interlocking their fingers.  “To our spot.”

Liam doesn’t wait for a response from Zayn.  He takes shaky steps down the concrete stairs before shuffling into the grass, pulling Zayn with him as he makes his way through the yard.  It’s dark, almost too black, but Liam can find his way with his eyes closed.  He and Zayn have done this enough times – snuck through Liam’s backyard late at night when they should be tucked away in their beds, sleeping away the summer heat or resting for another day of school – for him to know exactly where he’s headed.

The crickets strum a loud symphony of noises, the rustle of their feet in the grass as Liam quickens their pace lost in the sounds.  Liam takes a quick glance over his shoulder, Zayn’s expression still weary but it grows smooth and soft when Liam offers him a petite smile.  Zayn blinks at him, confused and frustrated, but he returns the smile with a glimmer of trust folding over his expression.  He knows Liam wouldn’t do anything to ruin things between them.

Liam reminds himself that what he’s doing will not ruin things between them.  At least, he hopes.

He backs into an old, thick, tall tree just nearing the fencing of his yard.  He shuffles until his back is pressed firmly against the smooth bark, fingers still twined with Zayn’s while his other hand reaches out and grasps the fabric of Zayn’s shirt, tugging him closer.  Zayn tumbles forward, barely finding his balance until he’s pressed close to Liam with his hands on either side of Liam’s head, palms flat against the tree.

Liam tips up a smile for Zayn, letting Zayn catch his breath for a moment before tilting his head back to look on Zayn.  The moon shimmers a pretty cascade of pale white light over Zayn’s features, accenting them while leaving Liam shrouded in the cool darkness of the night.

“Remember this tree?” Liam asks, his voice hushed.  They’re far enough from his house that his parents wouldn’t hear them but he knows the risk is still far too great.

Zayn bites gently on his lower lip, nodding with a bitten laugh.  “Of course, Liam.  We used to get into so much shit for climbing it because your mummy said it was too high up.  Your dad would giving us hell too – “

“Because we were supposed to be studying Math and not pissing around, climbing trees,” Liam finishes with a smirk, glancing upward to the branches.  The leaves are still a sharp green, shaking against the hollowed wind that strips through the air.  The tree is impossibly tall, the first couple of branches much higher up than Liam remembers.  They look weaker too, probably wouldn’t be able to support Zayn’s weight, let alone Liam’s now.

“And then he’d leave us alone, telling your mum _‘boys will be boys,’_ ” Zayn says with a hearty laugh, leaning in until his forehead is pressed to Liam’s.

Liam’s hand loosens its grip on Zayn’s shirt, laughing gently with him until the silence swallows them.  He feels something swell deep in him when he looks into Zayn’s eyes, that familiar feeling becoming a live, throbbing sensation over his body, shifting through his system.  It’s like a high, nothing he’s ever known, but he floats on it because Zayn is right here, calming him with brown eyes and soft breaths.

“Used to spend hours back here,” Liam whispers, tilting his head some.  He watches the long sweep of Zayn’s eyelashes against his cheeks, that shy, quiet Zayn so evident now.

He remembers this Zayn – too fearful to speak up in their classes, always a ball of uncontrollable energy during Art class or when he was scribbling on Liam’s notebook in the back of the bus, Liam’s head on his shoulder.  The Zayn that was, no, _is_ afraid of the dark but manages to survive it when Liam’s there.  The Zayn who whispered all of his dreams to Liam, clutching onto the sleeve of Liam’s jumper while they sat in the back of class watching films, pretending to pay attention when all they wanted to do was avoid the scornful gazes of their teacher long enough to whisper secrets to each other again and chat about silly things like music and comic books.

“We still could if you didn’t want to spend all of our time in your room listening to Kanye records and the latest song from Katy Perry,” Zayn teases, the edges of his eyes crinkling with a laugh.

“You got me stuck on Kanye, now didn’t you?” Liam says with a chuckle, rubbing gently at Zayn’s chest.  He can feel the thudding of Zayn’s heart beneath his fingertips – Two beats, three beats, a stuttered beat, four and five clattering together.

“I might’ve,” Zayn giggles back, lifting a hand from the tree’s trunk to sweep it down Liam’s round cheek.  “I made you cooler.”

“You _tried_.”

“Don’t deny it,” Zayn hisses, his grin thick and pushing at his cheeks.

“Can I show you something?” Liam asks abruptly, the laughter on his lips fading with the wind.

Zayn rolls his eyes, his nose wrinkling with another laugh.  “Not another _Teen Titans_ comic, I hope.  I told you I’m strictly a Batman fan.”

Liam shakes his head, the bark digging into his scalp.  The hand he has on Zayn’s chest shifts upward, pushing at the soft cotton of Zayn’s shirt until it rides a little high, exposing his abdomen.  He skates his fingertips over Zayn’s collarbone, feathery brief touches before his hand cups the back of Zayn’s neck, rests there while Zayn blinks at him curiously.  He feels his nerves digging in for a second before he’s inhaling a deep breath, shaking them to the floor and letting them slip away into a gust of wind.

There’s a sharp pinch at his heart when he leans forward, wonder and confusion hugging at Zayn’s face.  It stalls him for just a moment, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.  He bites down on it, the moon leaving a gentle shine over Zayn’s face that reminds him this is his best mate.  Zayn trusts Liam.  Liam trusts Zayn.  They love each other as friends and, despite his poor judgment, Liam thinks that’ll never change.  There’s a question in Zayn’s eyes, one that Liam is terrified to answer, before Zayn’s lips curve into a quiet smile and those long lashes feather across his cheeks as Zayn closes his eyes.

It’s just enough.  It’s not all he was hoping for, but it’s just enough.

The initial press of their lips feels hesitant like they’re searching, trying to find that groove that makes it feel right.  It’s a soft pressure, Liam pressing his fingertips into the skin of Zayn’s neck while Zayn’s fingers rub enthusiastically at his cheek.  It’s a shaky change of angle, a little guidance from Zayn, and then it falls like shooting stars.  It ricochets through Liam’s chest – a hot spark that glows blue and white – and Liam inhales deep as he glides into the kiss.

It feels natural in a way Liam knows it shouldn’t.

He was never taught that a boy couldn’t have feelings for another boy, kiss another boy, love another boy, but he knows, beneath the lines, that it wasn’t supposed to be right.  He knows his sisters kissed boys but never encouraged him to do the same.  He knows, hidden beneath all the teenage angst and mediocrity, that none of his classmates would openly kiss another boy the way he kisses Zayn.  There were a few buried beneath the bullshit and the social lines they never meant to draw that fought the system.  There were the ones who didn’t give a shit, refused to raise a white flag, wore their hearts on their sleeves and their battle scars proudly.

Liam pushes all of those thoughts aside.  None of that seems to matter.  What feels right is the way Zayn’s fingers etch every line in his jaw, over the smoothness of his cheek.  What matters is the way Zayn leans into the kiss, searching for more, and Liam gives it to him.  Liam presses a little firmer, lips opening to taste that minty toothpaste Zayn loves, the hint of chocolate cake his mum probably made, the tang of nicotine that Liam’s always hated but loves when it’s on Zayn’s lips.  His tongue slides over Zayn’s lips, wetting them, making the slide easier before Zayn’s moaning softly and parting those lips for Liam’s tongue.

The tip of his tongue stokes over Zayn’s, feels the texture and definition.  Zayn’s mouth is hot, wet, inviting.  Their tongues run over each other, curling before Zayn’s licking at Liam’s teeth and Liam is stroking the gentle ridges at the roof of Zayn’s mouth.  He sucks slowly on Zayn’s tongue, trying to swallow the grin pushing at his lips when Zayn moans again, shifts closer to Liam.

Liam’s not sure if it’s his heart or Zayn’s drumming loudly with Zayn’s chest pressed to his.  He shifts his hands, tries not to knock the snapback off of Zayn’s head as he toys with the short hairs at the nape of Zayn’s neck.  He lets Zayn bite softly at his bottom lip, nuzzling his nose to Zayn’s cheek before pushing in for a firmer kiss.  He stutters on a breath, Zayn’s hips pushing at his and, _fuck_ , this was just supposed to be a kiss.

It feels like so much more.

His cock is hard, straining against his far too loose boxers and he doesn’t want Zayn to feel that.  No, he doesn’t want all of this, the way their breaths are labored and their hands can’t seem to sit still, scare Zayn away.  Kiss or not, he needed Zayn as his best mate.

He’s certain he couldn’t survive this world without Zayn next to him.

Liam pulls back swiftly, his head smacking against the tree while cautiously pushing Zayn back.  He’s heaving for air, eyes wide while Zayn’s are dark and lidded.  Zayn’s taking a few stumbling steps backwards and Liam’s quick to drop his hand down to the small of Zayn’s back, making sure he doesn’t move too far away.  It rests there, fingers tracing small circles while Zayn blinks at him, chewing at his bottom lip.

The silence is a wicked dullness that curls against Liam’s senses.  He tries to read the thoughts in Zayn’s eyes but his own are far too loud, too relevant.  His resolve has cooled down a wild spark of what it was, his fingers tracing the soft skin of Zayn’s forearm while Zayn’s fingers dig into Liam’s shoulder and hip.

Liam’s senses are startled and he wonders how long before Zayn’s shaking his head and walking away.  How long before they both realize that, possibly, the kiss was a mistake and it’ll all be Liam’s fault.

“You called me over here,” Zayn starts, his voice deep and still a little breathless.  Liam waits for anger to slide over Zayn’s face but he’s shaken when a smile grips Zayn’s lips, pulls the corners of his mouth upward.  “You called me here, in the middle of the night, to show me a _kiss_?”

Liam slumps back against the tree, some warming sense of relief coiling over his spine.

“With tongue,” Liam breathes out, a chuckle chasing his words.

“What?”

Liam breathes out a sigh, a grin tumbling across his lips.  “For a kiss with tongue.  I wanted to kiss you with tongue.”

Zayn nods slowly, eyeing Liam with an arched eyebrow.  “Why?”

Liam swallows, the taste of Zayn’s mouth still at the back of his throat.  He likes it.  He wants more of it but he knows now is not the time.  He wonders, after tonight, will there be more times for that.  For kisses, for Zayn.

“You know that summer reading we had?” Liam wonders, eyes flickering to the way the moon shifts a beautiful sheen of blue over the grass, highlights the pickets of the tall fence separating his yard and the neighbors’.

Zayn nods, his eyes narrowing.

“Jesy Nelson asked me over to help her with that Tolkien book,” Liam says, chewing on his bottom lip.

“ _The Hobbit_ ,” Zayn inserts with a small nod.

“Whatever.  Should’ve seen the film,” Liam huffs out, relaxing beneath the sweeps of Zayn’s fingers over his hip.  “Besides, it was either that or _To Kill a Mockingbird_ and I never made it past the first chapter of that one.  I said I’d help her with Tolkien – “

“Liam, you’re horrible at English,” Zayn adds, his brow furrowing.

“Not the point of the story,” Liam hums, squinting at Zayn until he silences, merely nodding at Liam now.  “She bullshitted her way through the whole study session, said she’d rent the film, and tried to snog me.”

Zayn nods again, sharp and jerky.  Liam watches the way his jaw tenses, his own chest taking in a hollowing breath.

“I told her I couldn’t.  She freaked and asked why not,” Liam admits, his voice dipping lower now.  There’s another cool jet of air washing over them, shaking the leaves until they rattle in the air, a few spiraling down around them.

“You thought you were going to be awful?” Zayn asks, his eyebrow arched high.  “I already told you Liam, you’re not a shit kisser and – “

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Liam quickly interjects, teeth sinking further into his lip.  He thinks he can taste blood but his mind is whirling and he feels upside down.  His heart is hammering and, if there were any point where he needed a getaway plan, it would be now.

“What were you were worried about babe?” Zayn asks, inching closer with that hovering glint of concern again.  It sorts of sticks to Zayn whenever Liam’s involved.  He’s taller, thicker, more adept at dealing with bullies compared to Zayn yet Zayn always feels a need to protect Liam.  He’s not sure why, never has bothered to ask, but he knows it’s a bit daunting if not the most amazing feeling Liam’s felt.

All of those years of reading comic books and there was Zayn, his very own superhero.  Minus the cape and the brilliant powers, but still.

“I wasn’t worried about anything because I didn’t want to snog her,” Liam confesses, his words airy and curled around his staggering breaths.  He shakes his head when Zayn’s lips part to speak.  His determination stills before he adds, “I didn’t want to kiss her because, I think, I only really want to kiss you.”

He knows he should feel some sense of relief flaking over his skin.  He should feel warm, tingly from the admission.  His heart shouldn’t beat this fast, his forehead prickling with small drops of sweat.  His palms shouldn’t be damp and his vision shouldn’t be so fuzzy but it is.  Everything feels darker even though the moon is still bright and he’s waiting on it all to end.

He’s waiting on Zayn to finally ditch him, call him a fag, and forget they were ever best mates.

His anticipation doesn’t make room for the grin that folds over Zayn’s lips, the way Zayn takes a few steps forward until he’s crowded into Liam’s space again with his forehead resting softly against Liam’s.  His breathing feels too labored, raking against his chest when Zayn’s fingers trace his cheek, over the bridge of his nose, down and over his lips.  It’s a numb sensation before it prickles and explodes, Zayn pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

When Zayn pulls back, his nose absently nuzzling against Liam’s, he’s still wide-eyed and waiting for Zayn to shove him away.  He doesn’t.  He holds onto his smile, his fingers dancing over Liam’s chin now, and Liam thinks confusion is probably the right name for everything that he’s feeling.

“You called me over here, in the middle of the night, to tell me _that_?” Zayn asks, his voice tight but amicable.

“And to kiss you with tongue?” Liam offers, his brow scrunching.

Zayn chuckles, low and breathy.  His tongue traces over his lips before he’s saying, “You’re an idiot.”

“And your best mate?” It comes out like a question, Liam wincing when Zayn tilts his head to look on him curiously.  He shrugs, a halfhearted movement to try and distract Zayn from the way he probably looks.  It’s one thing to admit he wants to kiss Zayn, it’s another to admit his doubts, his fears.

“Of course, mate,” Zayn says back, his mouth curving with a grin.  “Couldn’t do without you.”

 _The same, Zayn, the same_ , he thinks but he settles for a rough attempt at a nod, Zayn’s forehead still pressed to his.

Zayn leans in once more, gentling a chaste kiss to Liam’s lips that feels weak and far too brief but he accepts it, pressing back until Zayn draws back.  His lips remain puckered, a foolish move that has Zayn giggling, shoving at his shoulder.  He can feel the heat from his blush radiating off his cheeks, slouching against the tree as Zayn rights his shirt.  His chinos hang low on his lips, the briefest glimpse of red briefs peeking from beneath the shirt and Liam tries not to stare.

“I should go.”

“Yeah,” Liam breathes out, still feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed.

“See you in the morning?” Zayn wonders, scooping his snapback off of his head.  He ruffles his fingers through his hair, pulling the fringe over his brow.

Liam offers him a small nod, grinning with his teeth nibbling at his lip.  “Bright and early.”

Zayn snorts, leaning forward to settle his hat over Liam’s curls, pulling it down until it’s secure and sitting backwards on Liam’s head.  He grins at Liam, stifling a laugh while Liam rolls his eyes.

Liam watches him move away, his Nike trainers shuffling through the grass.  He tries to remove himself from the tree but he’s still too weak, his legs numb while his arms throb.  He swallows, the sweet taste of chocolate and mint, and eyes Zayn when he glances at Liam over his shoulder.

“Next time Liam,” Zayn says with a smirk.  He waits until Liam lifts his brow, his face solemn.  “Buy me dinner before you snog me, eh?”

Liam barks out a laugh, tries to soften it when it echoes through the air.  Zayn’s grin lifts higher, the corners of his eyes crinkling again while his nose scrunches.  It tickles Liam, the way Zayn’s face wrinkles while holding in a laugh.

Best mates.  Kisses that Liam will never forget or not, Zayn will always have that piece of him.

**

The weeks seem to trickle by when school starts.  It’s nothing but classes, exams, homework, studying, morning and night runs to prepare for cross country while using his weekends to brush up on his footie skills with Niall and Louis.  He sits with Niall after school, munching on chips and crisps until Harry finishes out his daily detention – Liam swears the kid spends more time in detention that he does in actual classes – or watching Louis from the bleachers while he goes through a few pickup games on the pitch with Greg, Stan, and a few of the other football players.  He sits with Zayn at lunch, bites on his lip while Zayn doodles on his notebook, on the back of his hand, sometimes on his trainers while Louis tells crude jokes and Niall laughs at them all, mouthful and hand slapping against the table.

They don’t talk about the kisses and, honestly, there isn’t time for anymore.  Liam’s forgot how busy he keeps himself through the school year, trying his hardest to be something of an academic scholar and a sport all at once.  He never really exceeds his expectations – in fact, he thinks he doesn’t even _meet_ them on most occasions – but he has something to prove to his parents, to himself.  And Zayn never complains.  He sidles up to Liam after school, resting his head on Liam’s shoulder while he studies or helps Liam with his English assignments while tickling his fingers over Liam’s hip.  He sketches Liam while Liam runs drills in his backyard, doing a few laps around the large expanse of grass and fence.  They huddle together in the back of Math class, barely paying attention while smiling at each other and giving the other shit about his hair – Liam has kind of fallen in love with Zayn’s quiff and Zayn can’t seem to stop fingering Liam’s curls, giving them a teasing tug with a glimmer in his smile.

It’s moments like this one – an early October afternoon, the sun rippling over them with the clouds chasing each other in the sky – that Liam clings to.  Lying on his back in Louis’ backyard, the green grass surrounding them, he feels at peace.  He doesn’t know what it means to be lazy – his father instilled that in him – but something about lounging in the grass on their backs in off balance circle feels incredibly lazy and heartwarming.

They’re watching the clouds, silence sweeping a comfortable groove against them while they point out the shapes and dimensions of the fluffy white pieces of cotton floating aimlessly in a pitch perfect blue sky.  He listens to Harry’s humming, Niall’s incessant chattering about the way the clouds look like nosh while Louis groans loudly.  Zayn’s to his left, shifting uncomfortably for far too many beats with a pout on his lips and sad eyes focused on nothing in particular.

“Why do we always do this?” Zayn asks, flicking a few stray pieces of grass from his skin.  “It’s itchy.”

“Because we’re nothing but a group of petulant children with big dreams,” Louis says, his voice a mild attempt at scolding but it fails on take-off.

“Perpetual, you mean,” Zayn says, blinking up at the cascading blue sky.

“What?” Louis hisses, jerking his head in Zayn’s direction.

Zayn sighs quietly, a grin rolling over his mouth.  “The word you meant to use was _perpetual_ , not petulant.”

“Whatever.  Fucking English geek,” Louis mutters.  Liam smirks, ignores the words Louis murmurs beneath his breath – something that sounds like _“Fucking walking dictionary with his stupid quiff and skateboards.”_ – while folding his hands over his chest.

“It’s an elephant!” Niall barks out with a rumbling laugh, pointing to a set of rolling clouds.

“No, it’s not.  It’s a lion,” Harry argues kindly, a pout drifting over his lips when the clouds twirl and form a different shape.  “Or a gorilla.”

“You idiots,” Louis huffs out, crossing his feet at the ankles.  “It’s a giraffe.”

“You’re mental,” Harry giggles, smacking Louis’ arm with the back of his hand.

“Fucking crazy,” Niall snickers, tipping his head further back into the grass.  He exhales a happy sigh, tilting his head.  “It’s a Transformer.”

Liam bites down on his tongue to suppress his laugh, drumming his fingers on his chest.  He knows they’re all idiots and they’re all he ever wants to be around.

“Where do you think we’ll all be in a few years?” Harry asks suddenly, his tone wistful but there’s something pulling at his lips, Niall’s hand blindly reaching out to tangle his fingers in Harry’s stiff curls.

“Together,” Louis says nonchalantly, a careless lift to his shoulders.  “Probably in a band, rocking out in stadiums across the country.”

Zayn snorts, kicking at Louis’ foot.  “Not likely.”

“I’d be off in Uni somewhere.  Probably visiting you lads every weekend,” Niall says with a beaming smile.

“I’d be a male performer,” Harry sighs out with a smirk, his dimple flaring when Niall gives a gentle tug to his curls.

“Like a stripper?” Louis wonders, cocking his head to the side to look on Harry.

“Or porn star,” Harry shrugs, cherry lips spreading into a sinful smile.

Louis nods, impressed.  “Obviously.”

“What about you?” Liam wonders, tilting his head to look at Zayn.  The sun drips warm spots of haloed light over Zayn’s face, making his features even more striking.  It steals a breath from Liam, the way Zayn’s grin curls around the edges of his mouth, his eyes a sleek shade of honey and gold.

“English teacher,” Zayn says, his brow lifting.  “It’s what I always wanted to do.”

Liam nods, something possessively warm seeping into his chest when he feels Zayn’s pinky tickling against his.  He hooks them together, hands inching closer in the grass.

“Drama teacher,” Louis belts out, arms spread wide over the grass.

“Obviously,” Zayn chuckles out.  Louis flips him off without malice in his expression.

“And you Liam?” Harry inquires, tipping his head back fully to look at Liam from an upside down view.

Liam shrugs, flicking away scraps of grass sticking to his shoulder.  He feels Zayn’s fingers curling around his, his heart thumping a little louder against his chest.

“I’d probably be making airplanes in a factory with my dad,” Liam finally says, clearing his throat.  He can feel Zayn’s eyes on him, the way they study his every move.  “Or a fireman.”

“You’d look _fit_ in the uniform,” Harry notes, his eyebrows lifting when Zayn shoots him a steely glare.

“And that right there is a robot,” Niall points out, drawing Harry’s attention while Louis sighs impatiently.

Liam merely locks his fingers with Zayn’s, scooting a few inches closer until he can feel Zayn’s warmth swarming him.  He watches the sky, the clouds dancing and crashing into each other with Zayn’s hand in his and his mind drifting on other things.

“Would you stay here?” Liam asks softly, turning his head to look at Zayn.

Zayn shifts his head, blinking at Liam for a beat before a smile pushes at his lips.  “I’d go anywhere you were.”

Liam nods, his lips begging to say something.  He holds in the words in his throat: _the same, Zayn, the same_.  His lips itch to press against Zayn’s, feel their fullness, mouth some sort of promise against Zayn’s until they both knew that, yeah, time couldn’t separate them.  Important things like growing up, going to University, starting their lives wouldn’t mean that it wouldn’t be with each other.

He swallows roughly.  It felt so _permanent_.  This idea, the thought of Liam forever being bonded with Zayn.  He doesn’t think he wants it to go away.

**

They were supposed to be studying.  Math?  History?  Biology?  Something that Liam can’t really remember because their textbooks were kicked to the floor hours ago, along with their trainers and backpacks.  Studying turned into flipping through comic books – Zayn forced Liam to sit through a couple of issues of _Fantastic Four_ while Liam grinned as Zayn thumbed through _Justice League: Tower of Babel_ , his expression awe-stricken with a smile pushing at his pink lips.  He’s not quite sure what made him push the comics aside, tugging his fingers through Zayn’s hair before Zayn was smirking at him, sliding his own comic to the floor.

It was a breath, maybe two, before Zayn was crawling forward and pressing his lips to Liam’s.  It was a beat, the birds chirping outside of Zayn’s window, the sheets rumpled, and the mattress groaning loudly before Zayn was pushing him back and inching up Liam’s body, settling his lips to Liam’s again.  He doesn’t remember the moments after that but he remembers the kisses – the ones with Zayn’s tongue licking at his teeth, the ones where his hands ran over Zayn’s back, the ones where they rolled around with giggles before their lips were crashing together again, sticky-sweet and lasting.

The world felt like a blur of drunken wonder.  His fingers pulled at Zayn’s shirt, pressing into that soft skin at the small of his back.  Zayn’s lips were closed around his tongue, sucking gently while his fingers thrust through Liam’s hair – it was straight today, something that Zayn couldn’t stop mentioning with keen interest.  His legs shifted apart, something that felt incredibly natural even though he was still certain he had no idea what he was doing.  Something warm settled in his stomach when Zayn fit himself between those spread thighs, Liam’s feet pressed firmly on the mattress with his knees bent.

He couldn’t contain the gasp when Zayn’s mouth made its way to his neck, sucking roughly and leaving behind saliva as his teeth drug over new strips of skin.  He toyed with the thick, dark hair on Zayn’s head, eyes clenched shut.  His breaths felt shorter, _harsh_ against his chest as Zayn bit the side of his neck.  A hiss rolled over his lips, tugging roughly on Zayn’s hair but he didn’t stop Zayn when he felt a smile against his neck.  He let Zayn’s mouth ease further down until Zayn was licking and kissing near his collarbone, the touches tickling and hot all at once.

“Zayn,” Liam moans lowly, a shiver racking through his body when Zayn rolls his hips against Liam’s.  He tenses up, wanting to push Zayn away.  He can’t let Zayn feel his erection, can’t let Zayn know how aroused he is or how his cock is leaking incessantly against the front of his chinos.

“Oh babe,” Zayn murmurs against his skin, lips painting pretty designs against Liam’s birthmark, over his Adam’s apple.  They work upward, kissing at Liam’s chin, his jawline before their lips fit together again and Liam’s tipping sideways.

His hands push at Zayn’s shoulders when Zayn grinds down against him, the mattress sinking with their movements.  He’s hollowed breaths, wide eyes, and fear clinging to his hot, damp skin.

“Should I stop?” Zayn asks, his tone a bit frantic.

 _No_ , he thinks but he can’t swallow.  His throat is dry and he’s digging his fingers into Zayn’s shoulders, unsure whether to push him away or yank him closer.

“It’s just that,” Liam breathes out, shifting a little and, fuck, he doesn’t mean to rub his crotch so purposefully into Zayn’s hipbone but it happens.  It fucking happens and he wants to crawl under the bed and cry tears of shame.  “Fuck, Zayn, I’m sorry.”

Zayn grins down at him, his tongue tracing over his lips.  He leans in again, stroking the end of his nose against Liam’s.

“Babe,” Zayn whispers, his breath hot against Liam’s lips.  “Liam, look at me, my babe.”

Liam chokes on a breath, blinking his eyes open to look up at Zayn.  His lips are still drawn into that frown, fingers trembling against Zayn’s shoulders but Zayn looks impossibly warm, cautious, inviting with that smile.  There’s soft strokes of care in his eyes, gentle hands that are rubbing at Liam’s belly and his cheek.

“Fuck, Zayn, I’m _hard_ and I’m not supposed to be and I’m so sorry that this is happening – “

“You don’t want this to happen?” Zayn asks, his voice more than wounded.

Liam sighs, dropping a hand away from Zayn to cling to the sheets.  Stupid stars and moon sheets that Liam’s sort of in love with, always has been.

“I _want_ it.  I want to kiss you,” Liam admits, his voice choked.  “I want to kiss you until you tell me I have to stop.  And I want to be here, in your bed, with you.  I want it all but I don’t want to muck this up.”

Zayn chuckles, inching in again, pressing a quick kiss to Liam’s quivering lips.  “You can’t, Liam.  You couldn’t ruin this at all.”

“Yeah?”

Zayn nods, easing another kiss to Liam’s lips.  Liam sinks into this one, gripping the sheets tighter when Zayn strokes Liam’s lips with his tongue.

“I’m hard, Zayn,” Liam mutters against Zayn’s lips.

“Me too.”

Zayn kisses him again, softer this time.  He rolls his hips against Liam’s and Liam _feels_ him.  He feels Zayn’s cock, the one trapped behind a pair of joggers but it’s throbbing and firm and, yeah, it makes Liam harder.  It makes the tip of his cock push out a few more drops of precome and he moans into their kiss, his hand slipping from Zayn’s shoulder to fist into his thick hair.

“Is that a problem?” Liam asks, his voice deep and low.

“Not at all,” Zayn chuckles, dropping firmer kisses against Liam’s lips.  “I like the way it feels.  I like the way you make my prick feel.”  Zayn thrusts particularly rough to emphasis his words.

Liam nods, head tipping back when Zayn inches up and, _oh_ , their cocks slide against each other.  Fuck, they grind together and Liam thinks he could come like this.  He could come right here, in his fucking boxers, wetting his chinos and clawing at Zayn’s skin until he comes down from that fucking high.  He could kiss Zayn until he realizes that, yeah, snogging with your best mate in a pair of soiled boxers probably isn’t the most romantic or ideal thing to do.

He can hear the birds, the whirl of Zayn’s ceiling fan, the white noise of the telly on low – a repeat of the _Big Bang Theory_ he thinks – but none of it sets in.  None of it is louder than the sound of his heart or his heavy pants, Zayn’s soft keening noises.

Zayn’s kisses taste like smoke and mint bubblegum today, his tongue flicking over Liam’s.  Everything’s caving in on him, the way his hands keep grabbing at Zayn’s hips, his own rutting up to grind against Zayn’s.  His shirt keeps riding upward when they shift, Zayn’s shirt nearly halfway off and his mouth finds Zayn’s neck, lips tinting a small patch of skin a delicate red hue.  It takes a lot of effort, something he tunes himself into because his world feels blurred and rushed and he’s caught in the undertow.  Zayn presses messy kisses to his temple, across his cheek, capturing his mouth again to swallow each of Liam’s labored groans.

“I’m so hard, Zayn,” Liam says, his tone a bit panicked because he’s never been here before.  He’s sixteen and he’s never kissed someone – a boy, his best mate – for this long or been in someone else’s bed with an erection.  Or considered that, yeah, he’s going to come and it’s going to be with someone other than his hand, behind closed doors with a box of tissues nearby to clean up the mess.

Zayn hums against his lips, nodding.  “I feel it.”

Liam chokes out a whimper when Zayn’s hand grips him through his chinos, a couple of short strokes before he’s dragging his hand away.  Liam thinks his eyes roll to the back of his skull, pulling at Zayn’s sheets with a scrunched face.  He wants, no, he _needs_ more.  Definitely needs more.

“Can you?” Liam asks through sharp breaths, pushing his head up to press sloppy kisses over Zayn’s mouth.

“Can I what?” There’s a grin in Zayn’s tone but Liam can’t see it.  His eyes are clenched shut and his lips are fumbling to taste Zayn’s again.

There’s a fevered blush against Liam’s cheeks, a shyness overcoming him and he falls back against the mattress.  He chews at his lips, eyes scanning the room rather than Zayn’s face.  His brow furrows when Zayn’s fingers pull at his chin, trying to draw Liam’s attention.

“I can take care of myself,” Liam stutters out, his breath caught in his throat.  “Just let me go to the bathroom and have a wank.  I’ll come right back and we can snog some more.”

Zayn frowns a little, shaking his head.  “I don’t want you to go.”

“But Zayn,” Liam sighs, frustration building.  He tips his hips up, crushes his cock between them before and settles back against the mattress.  “Fuck, I’ve never done this.  I’m sorry.  I’m shit at it.  I’m sixteen and, Christ, I can’t even control myself in bed with a boy kissing me.  I’m pathetic.”

The heat burns him when Zayn leans in, pressing a long kiss to Liam’s cheek.  His lips drag over Liam’s ear, fingers sweeping over the side of his neck.  “You’re not.  You’re amazing.  You’re sixteen and in bed with me, your mate.  Just let me.”

“Let _you_?” Liam chokes out.

Zayn nods, another kiss to Liam’s cheek before he’s drawing back.  “Let me jerk you off, yeah?  Let me take care of you.  Let me be the first to,” Zayn bites down on his lip, waving a hand over Liam’s crotch before adding, “Just let me be the first.”

 _And last_ , Liam thinks, wincing because it’s a bloody stupid thought.  It’s daft and idiotic.  He must be crazy because what would make him think that this, whatever it was, he’s doing with Zayn is anything but two mates learning things together?  Why would it mean something more?  Why would Zayn want to continue this with someone as inexperienced and completely foolish as Liam?

He thinks too much.

He thinks too much and his cock is hard against his stomach, sticking to that thick trail of hair leading to his pubes.  He misses it when Zayn undoes the button to his chinos, pulls open the flaps, hooks his fingers into Liam’s boxers and drags them both down.  He unconsciously lifts his hips, helps Zayn pull down the material until they’re both crumpled just below his knees.  He’s off balance, swept away when Zayn noses against his jaw, whispers words so quiet that Liam can’t make them out over his own labored breaths.

“You can relax for me, yeah?” Zayn says softly, his teeth catching on Liam’s bottom lip, sucking gently until Liam nods.  “This has to be good, okay?”

“I can’t imagine it being _bad_ ,” Liam laughs out, the cool air from the fan dancing over his skin when Zayn pushes up his shirt.

Zayn laughs into his collarbone – a quick bite, a swift lick, a long suck.  “Relax, Liam, yeah?”

Liam nods again, pressing his head into the mattress.  He can do that – _relax_.  He can slow his breathing, stare at the ceiling, find something to focus on other than the fact that he’s half-naked, on his best mate’s bed, with slow kisses being dripped over his neck and sweaty palms running over his skin.  He can calm the fuck down with his cock throbbing against his stomach, the precome sticking to the head.

“Zayn,” Liam breathes out, trying to rile his patience but Zayn’s stroking his skin, kissing along his neck, licking at his birthmark.

He’s doing everything but touching Liam’s cock and it’s annoying.  Or beautiful.  He can’t really decide and, like any other sixteen year old with his cock out, he doesn’t think he has the common sense to do so.

“It’s nice,” Zayn says, his voice throaty as his fingers run along the thick vein on the underside.  He thumbs the head, Liam tensing immediately from the rush of ecstasy pooling in his stomach.  “You’re so wet.”

Liam breathes out a hard exhale, a sharp intake of breath when Zayn’s fingers trace the crown of his prick.

“It’s a little different,” Zayn adds, pulling the foreskin back, thumbing the red head.  His fingers form a loose sheath, sliding downward but the grip isn’t firm enough for Liam to gain pleasure from it.  It’s experimental, the way Zayn strokes him slowly while his thumb traces over each inch of the taut skin.

“Firm.”

“Fuck Zayn,” Liam shudders out, the breath knocked from his lungs when Zayn’s fingers tighten, pulling and pushing the foreskin over the head.

“Bet you could really satisfy someone, babe,” Zayn whispers, drawing sharp patterns over Liam’s neck.  “Could really go deep.”

Liam mewls.  He tries to count the beats of that old ceiling fan, tries to count the stupid glow in the dark stars on the ceiling that Zayn’s had up there since they were eleven.  His toes curl, dig into the fabric of his socks and Zayn, _fuck_ – his palm is so soft and smooth.  It catches the tip of his cock, uses the precome as lubrication and the drag is so familiar but so different.

Zayn’s fingers are thinner, a bit more practiced and focused.  Liam’s all speed and grip while Zayn is a nice blend of slow and steady with a cool rough and timely pull.  His thumb does wonders at the slit, his wrist flicking perfectly on the upstroke.  It’s a beat, beat, _quake_ that has Liam’s stomach constricting and his balls drawing in tight.

“Oh Christ, Zayn,” Liam hisses, hips stuttering up to fuck into Zayn’s hand.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Zayn mutters, teeth sinking into Liam’s shoulder through his t-shirt.

He tries not to peek down, wants to focus on those fucking stars until he sees them behind his eyelids but curiosity calls on him.  He spots the way Zayn’s joggers are tented, his cock pressing restlessly against the soft material.  He watches the nice contrast between his cream complexion compared to Zayn’s nearly gold skin, the way those fingers look curled around his aching cock.  It pools in his stomach, an all too familiar sensation riding his spine, sinking down through his chest, pulling at his balls.

“Oh, I think I’m gonna – “

“I’ve got you, babe,” Zayn whispers, nestling gentle kisses to Liam’s cheek before nuzzling Liam’s ear with his nose.  “Come in my hand.”

It’s too soon.  The words barely leave Zayn’s lips before he’s spilling over Zayn’s knuckles, spurts landing on his own stomach.  He feels like an amateur, a silly sixteen year old virgin who’s barely had Zayn’s hand on his cock for ten minutes before he’s striping Zayn’s fingers and his belly.

He’s gasping for air, his head tipped back.  He hadn’t realized his fingers were pinching into Zayn’s forearm until Zayn’s hissing while still stroking him through his high.  He swallows, watching the small marks his fingers leave behind as he drops his hand to his side, curling his fingers into the sheets as Zayn squeezes out the last few drops.

Liam’s shaking, breathless, and all he wants is to kiss Zayn.  He wants Zayn’s mouth against his, Zayn’s tongue soothing him and, fuck, he _needs_ it.  And Zayn’s right there, licking into his mouth, kissing him slowly like there’s still time.  Like the world is crumbling around Liam when he knows it is.  He’s going to be swallowed alive by these fucking feelings because Zayn just gave him a proper wank, made him come, and that’s not weird at all.

No, it’s an exceptionally normal feeling to want to kiss your best mate with his hand around your sticky, soft cock and your own hand inching up to palm him through his sweats.

“You,” Liam says against Zayn’s lips, still swallowing for air.

“Me?”

“ _On me_ ,” Liam whispers, his back arching when Zayn’s hand finally leaves his cock.  He’s cold, wet, sticky, but all he wants is Zayn to feel that same feeling.  “Show me, Zayn.  Show me you want this too.”

Zayn snickers, his nose wrinkling before he softens another kiss to Liam’s lips.

“You want me to wank off for you?”

“I want you to come.”

“On you?”

“Wherever,” Liam sighs, falling back on the bed.  “Just, _please_.”

Zayn nods slowly, nipping at his bottom lip.  He leans in, his nose stroking over Liam’s cheek, lips kissing the corner of Liam’s mouth.

“You did this to me, Liam,” Zayn tells him, his voice hushed.  “You made me hard.  You made me so fucking hard.  And I’m not gonna last.”

Zayn drags down the front of his sweats.  Liam reaches out – there’s no pants beneath.  Cheeky Zayn, honestly.  It’s nothing but wiry black hair and a pulsing cock that Liam pets lightly, fearful.  He fingers the head, the precome thick and Zayn’s cooing, shivering on top of him.

“I’m not gonna last because of you,” Zayn says darkly, wrapping his come-covered hand around his cock.  “Because I was the first person to do that for you.  And you’re going to be the first person that makes me come like this.  On you.”

Liam shivers, nodding.  He thumbs the head, feels the surface of Zayn’s cock.

“And fuck,” Zayn gasps, a few quick strokes as he inches up, straddles Liam’s hips.  “Do you know how good you _felt_?  Do you know what you _looked_ like?”

“Zayn,” Liam hisses, blush coloring his cheeks again.  He looks up, those pupils blown wide, those lips swollen and curled into a smirk.  It fucks with his head in the best way.

“I’m gonna come,” Zayn mutters, biting down on his lip.

Liam reaches up again, folding his hand over Zayn’s, moving in unison.

“Because of me?” Liam asks, his voice far from teasing or taunting.  It’s honest, something he doesn’t know how he manages.

Zayn nods, teeth biting firmer against his lip.  Their hands move quicker, gripping tighter.

The room is heady with their scent – musk, sweat, everything that’s young and boyish.  The sounds of Zayn’s pants, the way their skin is slick against his prick, the buzz from the telly corners his thoughts.  He watches, awe-stricken and unprepared as Zayn lurches forward, his free hand pressed to the mattress on the side of Liam’s head.  Liam steadies his other hand on Zayn’s hip and holds him in place, his strength tested as Zayn thrusts his hips forward and groans deep in his throat.

Zayn’s a dim angel when he comes.  He’s quiet, but loud.  He’s broken and glowing.  His head is bowed and his hips keep thrusting, their hands stroking the come from him.  It streaks over Liam’s stomach, wets the lower portion of his chest and he’s breathing just as heavy as Zayn, trying to ride out the wave.  Zayn keeps trembling, coming, gasping out soft sounds that Liam wants to hear in the dark of the night, tangled in these sheets.

There’s a shuffle on the bed after Zayn fixes his sweats, the mattress shifting and jostling Liam.  He’s cold, alone, blinking at the ceiling to try and come down from this high, and, yeah, he’s sticky _and_ sweaty.  The sticky and sweaty part feels like an afterthought when he replays Zayn’s face, his eyes, the way his lips parted, the way he shook when he came.  It’s on a constant loop, one that Liam’s certain he’s going to have to figure out how to turn off before he’s hard again and dragging Zayn down onto the mattress to do more than have a casual wank with a best mate.

 _Casual_.  There was nothing casual about it and he thinks that’s the part he’s doing best at avoiding.

The mattress dips again when Zayn kneels on the edge, a dry washcloth wiping away the come before it adheres itself to Liam’s skin.  Zayn’s grinning down at him, his teeth worrying his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue hanging out.  He’s careful, gentle, dabbing at Liam’s skin for a second too long before tossing the cloth into the hamper – _“Suppose I’ll have to get a clean one to shower with later, yeah?”_ – and crawling over Liam to settle next to him on the bed.  Liam slips back into his boxers and chinos, buttoning them up while Zayn draws lazy circles over his stomach.

Liam wonders if it’s instinct or exhaustion that makes him stretch, arms reaching high above his head before one slinks around Zayn’s shoulders, dragging him closer.  He lets something resembling a smile fold over his lips when Zayn drags his fingers through Liam’s hair, a quiet sigh lifting his chest.

“Don’t suppose you could actually help me with my Math assignment now, yeah?” Zayn asks, his words breathy against Liam’s ear.  “I’d hate for me mummy to come home with my room smelling like bullocks and you without me doing my homework.”

Right – they were studying _Math_.  Numerical equations, x equals, slopes, triangles, and the likes.

Liam snorts, nodding.  “I’m shit at Math, Zayn.”

Zayn giggles, his thumb sweeping over Liam’s forehead.  His eyes flutter shut, Liam dragging his mouth over Zayn’s cheek.  He doesn’t know why he does it but it feels right.  It feels like something he should do.  At least, he’s sorted out it’s what he should do.

“As am I, Liam,” Zayn mutters, inching closer.  He rests a hand on Liam’s chest, the rise and fall moving like a sharp wave on the ocean.  “We can work it out together, yeah?”

Liam nods again, grinning.  “Together.”

He reaches down, blindly grabbing the textbook that’s hiding beneath comic books and notebooks, pulling it up to his chest.  The numbers seem fuzzy, blurred together when he takes a breath in.  He’s still dizzy on that sensation that he can’t quite name but he figures now is not the time.  Not when Zayn’s cuddled close, the world is still slipping sideways and neither of them are willing to talk about what has happened.

He simply draws his arm from Zayn’s shoulders, pretending not to hear a soft whine from Zayn.  They settle into something a little less comfortable so that Liam can focus and not feel that constant buzz against the back of his mind that tells him to kiss Zayn every time he gets an answer right.

It’s just that, well, he thinks he’s looking for any excuse to kiss Zayn now and that’s playing a very unfair game with his mind.

**

“I was thinking about going to check out this art show over in Cheshire this weekend.  Catching the bus and making a day of it,” Zayn says, leaning back in his chair.

He’s not talking to anyone specific, the five of them crowded into their table in the corner of the lunchroom.  Niall says something around a bite of mash, Louis darting his eyes everywhere except Zayn’s because they all know how Louis feels about art.

“My sister Gemma is in town.  Probably wants to spend time with the family, catch a film,” Harry says with a mocking sigh, a grin threatening to slide over those cherry lips.

Zayn lowers his brow, a few stray scrapes of his pencil along his sketchbook leaving behind dulled lines before he’s saying, “You don’t have to make up an excuse not to go, you know.”

“ _Really_?” Louis beams, Niall reaching out to toy with his soft fringe.  “Brilliant because I’m fresh out of good ones.”

Zayn flips him off, chewing out spiteful words that Louis can’t hear amongst the loud chattering from the few tables nearby.

Liam pushes his curls back, unable to replicate that trademark _sweep-sweep-swipe_ that Harry’s seems to have mastered over the summer – though Liam swears Harry stole the hair-flick move from him – but it’s enough because his curls aren’t quite as soft and pliant as Harry’s are.  He tugs at the collar of his jumper, feeling too hot beneath the dull lights of the cafeteria before running his palms along the denim of his jeans.

“I’d love to go – “

“Of course you would Liam,” Louis says in a deadpan voice, leveling Liam with an expectant look.  “Always have to have Zayn to yourself, I swear.”

“He invited you lot,” Liam reminds him, but it feels like a wasted argument.

They all do it – remind Zayn and Liam that they’re each other’s best mate.  Not like Louis who declares Liam his best mate, sometimes Niall on his horribly off days.  Harry declares Louis is his, though none of them really believe it because Harry spends far too much time joking with and trying to imitate Niall.  Zayn still swears Ant and Danny from back home are his mates, but no one’s convinced, not even Liam though he puts on a frown and nods along until Zayn slings an arm around his shoulders, ruffling his hair.  They never give Niall shit when he says they’re all his brothers, a tried and true grin on his lips until they all leap on him, drawing him into a circle of hugs that’s really just a pile of teenage boy unity.

Still, taking a piss at Zayn and Liam feels like a sport for the other three.  Zayn shrugs it off and Liam wonders if he’ll ever be as laidback as Zayn about things.

“Zayn is Liam’s guardian angel,” Harry teases, opening his mouth for Niall to toss a chip inside.  He misses, of course, because Harry is terribly clumsy and uncoordinated.

Liam tries not to laugh at the way Niall frowns when the chip smacks against the floor.

“Shut it Styles,” Zayn hisses, another stray stroke of his pencil dragging along his sheet of paper.

Harry shrugs, resting a comforting hand on Niall’s shoulder, frowning with him.

“Dear Lord and Mother Theresa,” Louis yelps, falling back harshly against his chair and catching himself before he nearly tips over.

“Mother _who_?” Niall asks, looking around.

“Theresa,” Zayn murmurs, not bothering to glance up from his sketch.

“Christ, Horan, if the topic isn’t food, you don’t know shit from crap do you?” Louis hisses, narrowing his eyes at Niall.

Niall blinks at him for a beat, lips pursed before he shrugs.  Harry cackles, drawing Niall into a protective embrace.  Niall doesn’t pull away when Harry presses a kind kiss to his temple, rubbing their cheeks together.

“What are you going on about Lou?” Liam asks, his voice dipping low and underneath a breath because he’s not too fond of the eyes starting to fall on their table, nor the way Cher has stopped mid-sentence to shoot Louis a glare.  He knows that won’t end well and, honestly, he can’t explain to his coach why he missed practice or to his mum when she no doubt has to come pick him up from detention.

Louis waits a moment until the eyes start to flitter away before he, without the littlest of discretion, reaches across the table to pull at the collar of Liam’s jumper until it’s slipping below Liam’s collarbone.

“Care to explain yourself Li?” Louis hisses, blue eyes still very much narrowed with a quirk to his lips.

“Explain what?” Liam asks, glancing downward.  He catches his breath before it hitches but there’s still a sharpness singing through the air from the way the oxygen rattles down his throat.

“It would seem you’re dating that vampire Jacob – “

“ _Edward_ ,” Harry speaks up, tousling his curls for a second.  He clears his throat when Louis’ head snaps in his direction, grinning before adding, “Edward Cullen.”

“Do I look like someone who has a fuck to give?” Louis sneers, his jaw tense.  Harry shrugs once, rolling his eyes when Louis looks away.

“ _Someone_ seems to enjoy decorating your neck,” Louis breathes out when he finally looks back at Liam, a gleam to his smile when his eyes travel from Liam’s to the round, ruddy bruise just above Liam’s collarbone.

Liam’s certain his face is flushed, ghostly.  He carefully pulls back from Louis’ fingers, smacking away his hand when Louis reaches out to touch the mark.  He slouches into his chair, lungs fighting for air while his heart beats a little too painfully in his chest.  His fingers grip at the edge of the table, his other hand trying to rearrange his jumper until the bruise is covered and, fuck, he _hates_ the way Harry’s eyes grow large while Niall’s perfectly blue eyes glaze over with shock.  It stutters his breaths, his own eyes going wide while his teeth sink so far into his lip that he’s sure he can taste that coppery hint of blood on the edge of his tongue.

Zayn looks up, leaning back in his own chair while tapping the edge of his pencil on his chin.  Liam’s eyes flit from him because, no, he can’t drag Zayn into this even though he knows it’s Zayn’s fault.  Zayn and those stupid, soft, wonderful lips that sucked just a little too gingerly at Liam’s neck when they were behind the school the day before.  That mouth that tasted like cigarette smoke and the juices of that orange Zayn had bitten to earlier that day.  With those hands that tugged at the zipper of Liam’s chinos, pulled down the front of his boxers while Liam’s own nervous fingers worked at Zayn’s jeans, eyes glancing around constantly because they were behind the school.  Loads of kids came there to smoke, talk shit, make fun of whatever sporting group was practicing down on the field.

Zayn’s mouth that traced over the skin of Liam’s neck while those hands tugged on Liam’s dick, stroked his own cock, and left them both clinging to each other seconds before they came.  Those hands that weren’t calloused like Liam’s.  They were soft, his thumb pulling at Liam’s foreskin while Zayn’s other hand jerked furiously along his prick, the precome dripping and sticky.  Lips that let teeth bite into Liam’s collarbone until Liam was hissing, clawing at Zayn’s back, praying no one came around the corner.  A tongue that licked slowly over Liam’s neck, lips that kissed apologies into Liam’s skin before applying just enough pressure that Liam was shaking against Zayn.  His back was pressed to that painfully hard brick wall while he came in Zayn’s hand.  His own hands held Zayn’s hips as Zayn fucked out a nut against Liam’s stomach, grinning into Liam’s neck as he let out shuddery breaths.

Liam rubs his index and middle finger absently over the bruise, eyes shifting closed for just a moment while his cock pushes unremittingly at the zipper of his jeans.

“Liam,” Niall sings out, his voice a bit dreamy but nothing like Zayn’s voice when he’s so close to the edge.  Fuck, he needs to kiss Zayn.

No, he needs to figure out how to breathe at a normal rhythm again because he’s taking in huge gulps, sweat sticking to his forehead.  And his cock, yeah, he hopes no one spots the way his hand slips under the table to adjust himself because it’s more than a bit painful to have your cock stroking against metal teeth.

Liam bunches gasps of air into his body, nearly choking as he bats his eyes open.  They’re wide again, staring blankly for a moment before he settles them on Niall.  That was _definitely_ a mistake.

Niall’s grinning at him, a smug look he rarely adopts because it’s something Louis has owned since the day they all fell into this makeshift arrangement of lads and conquering the world – they were a bit behind on the whole _‘conquering the world’_ part, but Louis has a plan.  Louis _always_ has a plan.

“Care to explain?” Niall wonders, that grin suddenly looking clearer than any high-def program Liam’s ever watched on Louis’ flat screen telly.

“No,” Liam says weakly, tugging at his curls.  It stings against his scalp but it’s the right kind of distraction for his heart to find its syncopation again.

“And he doesn’t have to,” Zayn snaps, his voice cold but nonthreatening.

“He _doesn’t_?” Louis asks, swayed confusion in his tone.

“No.”

“But,” Louis drags out, waving his hands around for dramatic effect.  Louis was brilliant at things like that.  Drama teacher indeed.

“No, Lou,” Zayn says sternly, eyeing Louis as Louis rubs at his chin, thoughtful in the worst kind of way.

“Whatever,” Louis shrugs, kicking at an empty chair.

“Liam’s not such a good boy,” Harry teases, leaning over the table.  There’s a shuffle under the table and Liam’s pretty sure Harry’s scowl is from the kick Zayn’s just given him.

“Yeah, well, he won’t be getting high with us after school anytime soon so,” Niall hums, pulling Harry close until the frown tugging at Harry’s lips subsides.  He nods at Liam, adding, “Good on you Payne.”

“Job well done,” Harry concurs, his words a tiny bit muffled against Niall’s chest.

Louis balks, shooting them an indignant look that both Harry and Niall wave off, grinning at each other.

“You lot are fucking mad,” Louis groans, his foot kicking into that completely defenseless chair once more.  Liam doesn’t know if he feels more for the chair or the scuff marks it’s no doubt leaving on the toe of Louis’ Vans.

“Jealous because El isn’t leaving neat little mementos for you to remember your boring snogs?” Harry teases, dropping his head back onto Niall’s shoulder.  Liam grins, the way Niall and Harry fit together – the sand and the ocean.

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis grumbles, kicking Harry this time.

“Piss poor attitude, mate,” Niall huffs, rubbing his nose into Harry’s curls while Harry pouts.

Louis makes a face, reaching out to pull roughly on Niall’s bright, bright blonde locks.  Niall seems unfazed and they all seem to fall into their own place again.

Liam tries to avoid the looks Louis gives him – concerned but a bit jarring as well.  It’s some sort of Louis-way of telling him he’s out of character, but honestly, he doesn’t think he can muster a care in his bones.  Not when there’s a flicker of a smile pulling at the corners of Zayn’s lips, those cheeks a little darkened by the unshaven stubble on Zayn’s face but the blush bites through nicely.  Those lips, a proud pink, shift and slide behind Zayn’s teeth until Liam remembers the feel of them over his skin, stripping away that _‘good boy Liam’_ title he’s worn like a tattered badge for too long.

He wants it all to go away.  That pure and innocent teenage dream that inks itself into his skin in the most painful way every time his lips twitch into a smile with that wholesomeness his mum brags about but, honestly, he wants to feel anything but sometimes.  He wants those lips to remind him over and over that he can just be Liam.  Filthy thoughts, rough hands, swollen lips with a heart beating so loud he can’t hear the pound of a drum in the marching band.

Zayn does that for him, without the verbiage and constant reminders that Liam is being anything other than _Liam_.  He pulls Liam apart and leaves him never wanting to be pieced together again if it means being anything other than what he can be with Zayn.  And it has his fingers dragging over the rough material of his jeans, his arousal prominent and aching now, with his eyes flickering over Zayn wondering how long before he can feel those lips on his again.

Lips that Zayn uses artfully.  Liam can’t seem to wrestle his thoughts away from that Sunday night, when Liam should’ve been home setting out his clothes for school, looking over that last bit of Literature homework, maybe taking in a Sunday match on the telly with his dad.  He should’ve been lying on his bed, alternating between texting Harry or Louis about their plans for the following weekend while flipping through a few pages of Harper Lee – he’s still certain he won’t finish his stupid paper on time.  Instead, his brown eyes were half-lidded, glaring at the faded cream paint of his locked bedroom door while standing in the middle of his bedroom floor with labored breaths breaking through his once sealed lips.  Eyes that watched that brass doorknob intently, hoping his mum didn’t decide to drop off his clean laundry or stop in to check on the progress of he and Zayn’s studying.

 _Zayn_.

Zayn, with his knees digging into that worn carpet on Liam’s floor and soft pink lips wrapped firmly around Liam’s cock.  Liam’s fingers, shaky and trembling, pulling through Zayn’s soft quiff – well, what was left of it because Liam’s hands had been unable to stay out of it the moment their lips pressed together hours before – while Zayn bobs up and down on his aching prick.  And those lips that were stretched and swollen around Liam were peeling him apart delicately.  They were dragging over Liam’s cock for the first time – he’s certain he’s going to need to make a list of things Zayn’s done for him the first time, starting with _this_ – until Liam’s knees were weak and his hand was pressing to Zayn’s shoulder for support.

Zayn pulls back with a small pop, smiling, licking spit and precome from his lips without looking the least bit debauched.  Looking up through long lashes with his grin thickening, a firm grip on Liam’s dick until Liam stopped shaking and corralled his breathing.  Quiet kisses pressed to Liam’s inner thigh while Zayn’s hand strokes the back of Liam’s thigh, his cheek caressing the underside of Liam’s twitching cock.

“Jesus,” Liam breathes out, his thumb sweeping over Zayn’s hairline and Zayn, fuck, he mewls with the touch.

He breaks Liam that easily with his eyes blinking closed and his mouth opening to take Liam back in.

Breaths just a little too accelerated, Zayn sinking lower, teeth biting at the tip of his tongue as Zayn swallows him midway, his hand doing the rest with saliva making the strokes easier, wetter.  Spit sliding out the corner of Zayn’s mouth, his tongue curling around the head of Liam’s cock.  Liam’s fingers tugging gently at Zayn’s head, testing, pulling him back until Zayn’s sucking lovingly on the tip of his cock while looking up through those flutteringly long lashes.

Liam’s fingers dig into Zayn’s shoulder, _close_ , too close.  Zayn’s only been there ten minutes, maybe a little longer, and Liam feels stupid.  That wave overwhelms him – daft sixteen year old rookie who can’t hold out long enough for Zayn to give him a proper blowjob.  Zayn looks up at him, curious, kissing at the head and he doesn’t know why it eases him.

“It’s okay,” Zayn whispers around his cock, the words muffled but understandable.

He hates how Zayn _gets_ it.  Zayn always does.  He’s cautious and understanding and, fuck, Liam wants him to be anything but.  He wants Zayn to complain when Liam pushes his lips further down, Zayn’s cheeks hollowing and Liam can see the indentation of his cock against the flesh of Zayn’s cheek.  He’s weak, willing, and his hips stutter forward to push his cock further into that wet, hot mouth of Zayn’s.

Zayn’s hand goes tight on his cock, his thumb working the underside, fingers carefully slipping the foreskin back.  His tongue licking the precome from the slit, bottom lip quivering as Liam rolls his hips, drags the head of his prick over Zayn’s lips.  _Fucking sinful piece of art_ , Liam thinks, knees buckling again when Zayn sinks back down.

“Gonna come, Zee,” Liam hisses, trying to drown his voice beneath that silly mix CD Harry had left in his room, something that goes from – _you wanna be high for this_ – to something a little more piano-ridden – _and I told you to be patient, and I told you to be fine_.

Zayn pulls back, nodding, stroking him faster.  There’s a gleam on his lips, palming himself through his jeans while licking his lips.  He’s gasping for air, lashes wet with determination set into those sharp features.  The soft slurp, the slick sound of Zayn’s hand gripping him tighter, spit sliding between those fingers, it all echoes like violins hitting acoustics.

Zayn’s mouth going round the tip, sliding further, Liam trying to catch his breath but it feels too raw.  His throat is dry, his fingers burn as they tug on Zayn’s hair but Zayn’s not relenting.  He’s sucking and Liam, fuck, Liam’s _reeling_.

“Zayn, please,” Liam begs, toes digging into the carpet, pushing up on them until he’s almost choking Zayn.

Zayn hums sweetly, eyelashes wrinkled against those soft cheeks that were shaven and so soft when Liam touched them earlier.  And Zayn does this like it’s not his first time, – Liam knows it is by the way Zayn nearly gagged himself the first couple of times he pushed a little too far – like this is all he’s wanted to do for Liam.  Like the taste, the texture, the fucking shape of Liam’s cock gives him the strength to push on.  It’s incredible, the tightening in Liam’s stomach, and he can’t catch himself quick enough.

“Oh fuck,” Liam sputters, pushing Zayn’s hair back because he can’t do anything else as he spills over Zayn’s tongue, down his throat.  He shivers – _fucking rookie_ – and does his best to hold on but there’s nothing to hold onto.  Nothing to steady himself because Zayn’s got a hand around his cock, jerking him through it, and his other hand is gripping that lengthy cock through the front of his jeans, the wet spot darkening around the crotch.

He’s gasping for air, ruined and exhausted, with his muscles aching and the entire room spinning.  It’s a delicious coolness seeping over his skin, Zayn licking the last few drops away before letting Liam’s cock slide from his lips.  He’s sitting back on his haunches, doing his best to fix his hair while Liam stares at that damn door, still praying his mum doesn’t try to force it open – locked or not.

He’s on his knees when Zayn’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, reaching for his own strips of air.  He’s watching that smile settle on Zayn’s lips, the corners of his mouth curling while Liam tries not to stare at him in awe.

He does a terrifically horrible job at that.

Liam leans in, pressing a light kiss to Zayn’s lips, a hollowed groan sitting in the back of his throat when Zayn kisses back.  He tastes himself on Zayn’s tongue – salty, bitter, thick, a bit unpleasant but nothing he thinks he wouldn’t gladly do for Zayn.  He kisses Zayn until that high Zayn’s on, the one that has him shaking and touching any piece of Liam available, calms.  He nips at Zayn’s lips, whispering gratitude that he feels silly about but Zayn shrugs, kissing him harder and willing.

“Hey.”

Liam shakes, looking around quickly but Louis’ too caught up in some row with Cher – it was inevitable, really – while Harry and Niall play FIFA on Harry’s phone.  There’s fingers on the back of his hand, the one that’s under the table trying to grip the fabric of his jeans.  They’re quiet touches, tiptoeing over his skin and he has to admit that he loves the way Zayn’s skin looks against his – a complex contrast of rich tones and softness.

Liam looks up at Zayn, feeling hot and breathless at how close Zayn’s scooted his chair.  He’s not suffocating but the air feels thinner, Zayn’s smile lighting up when Liam settles his eyes on him.  It takes Liam a moment before his own smile surfaces, thoughts still spinning in an uncomfortably quick motion.

“You’ll really come with me?  This weekend?” Zayn asks, his voice sinking low and raspy like after he smokes a cigarette.

Liam clears his throat, turning his hand over until Zayn’s fingers tickle his palm.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Liam says, his own voice caught on a breath.

Zayn’s cheeks lift.  “You’re the best.  ‘s gonna be fun, promise.”

Liam nods, believes Zayn.  He has no reason not to.  Even the quietest, simple things with Zayn were fun, memorable.  He thinks it’s probably because he just loves to be around Zayn, you know, his _best mate_.  Because that’s all Zayn was supposed to be.

“Buy me lunch?” Liam wonders, leaning in Zayn’s direction.  It’s natural, pure instinct that has Zayn folding an arm around Liam’s shoulders, grins too wide to capture in one frame.

“Dinner too,” Zayn says, his tone chuffed and pleasant.

“I fancy a nice meal, Zayn,” Liam teases, ducking his face into Zayn’s neck for a laugh.  Warm scent, something like citrus and hot herbal tea.

“No dessert,” Zayn jokes, a half-grin on his lips, his cheeks pushing his eyes nearly closed.

“Bugger.”

“Thank you,” Zayn whispers against Liam’s forehead, the world doing its usual slide away whenever Zayn’s voice goes this soft, this painfully happy.

Liam wants to thank Zayn for giving him a reason to escape his thoughts, his worries, his own desolate existence.  He settles for a nod, tucking his chin against Zayn’s collarbone, rubbing his nose along Zayn’s neck.  He doesn’t stay long, lips already twitching to kiss at the skin, drawing back with Harry’s green eyes following them.  It’s not a curious look, not like the one Louis would have.  It’s a gleeful one like he understands, like he shares that same kind of connection with Niall or Louis when Louis’ not being _petulant_ – Liam grins at that.

He straightens himself in his chair, Zayn shifting away to finish his sketch.  He fiddles with his now cold chips, waiting for that inevitable bell that’ll signal the end of this moment.  His thumb sweeps under his collar, glancing to Zayn for a moment.  The pad pushes against that love bite, the one that’s probably darkened, feeling all the more permanent in a way that Liam thinks he doesn’t mind.

No, he doesn’t mind it at all.

He leaves his own mark later, after school, in the boys’ loo on a lower floor of the building with the deadbolt locked and Zayn pressed against a wall of one of the stalls.  He doesn’t mind the way Zayn’s fingers drag slowly through his curls, tangling themselves while Liam’s fingers pull at the collar of Zayn’s Superman t-shirt – no, _Liam’s_ shirt but he doesn’t say anything.  Zayn nicks all of their clothes, but seems to hang on to Liam’s longer than the others – to expose more skin.  He listens to Zayn’s sharp pants, low hisses, soft moans that rattle off the walls a little too loudly while his lips suck impatiently at the space between Zayn’s shoulder and neck.

Liam decorates Zayn’s skin with more than one mark, finding a small stretch of skin above his collarbone, behind his ear, in the center of his chest when he pushes Zayn’s shirt up.  He traces each one with his tongue, letting Zayn grind his hips against Liam’s until their cocks are stiff, aching.  He lets Zayn’s hands scramble over his back as they kiss, lips raw and swollen when they pull back.  He lets Zayn chew on his bottom lip, shy and quiet for moments while Liam admires him, rubs gentle patterns over Zayn’s hip.

Words wait on his tongue, never moving, ready for the war he’s waging with his heart.  He does his best to swallow them, fitting his mouth against Zayn’s until Zayn’s an impatient child, begging for release.  Liam doesn’t give it to him, grinning at Zayn.  Zayn’s the bolder of the two, willing to get off any place available but Liam knows his limits.  He knows unless Zayn pushes him over the edge, he’ll tiptoe the ledge until he feels comfortable enough to jump.

It’s how they work.  He doesn’t see a need to change it.

**

It’s the crest of November when the knock on his door is almost too quiet for him to hear.

He half-expects it to be his mum, bringing him some of those lemon bars he refused for dessert – she always tries to coerce him into breaking his diet during training and he never bothers to hate her for it – or possibly Louis, annoying Liam for another late night run – he’s more than impressed with the way Louis tends to stick to his resolve about putting in extra effort during the off season; he more than wishes he could say the same for Niall.  He scurries to straighten himself on his bed, slipping the comic he’s reading between his Math book because he doesn’t feel like seeing his mum shaking her head, giving him that disappointed look she always gives him when he skips studying for comics.  He figures Louis will just toss the comic aside, slide onto Liam’s bed with him and go on about how much he’s ready to _“abandon this mock relationship with El for a life of drugs and booze”_ until he’s dizzy and Liam’s restless.

He’s honestly not expecting Zayn to be leaning in his doorway, blackening that bright shimmer from the hall light with his head hanging a little low, fingers rubbing at his chin.  He’s not expecting Zayn to offer him a weak smile, a beanie pulled over his probably soft, fluffy hair with his hoodie hanging loosely off his frame – Liam’s certain Zayn’s wearing _his_ Ralph Lauren t-shirt, but he’s doesn’t bother mentioning it.  His sweats are hanging low on his hips, that peek of black briefs viewable only when Zayn lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, clearing his throat.

“Can I come in?” Zayn asks, dragging the toe of his high top trainers over the hardwood floor outside of Liam’s room.

Liam quirks a brow, scooting up to the edge of his bed to let his legs hang off, feet kicking adamantly.

Zayn seems antsy, tugging at the string of his hoodie, spinning the wheels of his skateboard against his fingertips, eyes flickering from Liam’s face to his bare feet.  There’s a tug at his lips, one that Liam mirrors, and this feels so… _different_.

“You’ve never had to ask before,” Liam finally says with a small lift of his shoulders, pushing out a grin when Zayn nods.

Liam pushes off of his bed as Zayn toes off his shoes by the door, resting his skateboard up against Liam’s dresser.  Liam closes the small distance between them without trying, folding Zayn into his arms.  He smells like fresh air, a stiff hint of nicotine, a waif of cologne, and something sweet.  It cools Liam’s senses, his nose rubbing against the side of Zayn’s neck while Zayn’s arms hesitantly lift and secure themselves around Liam’s back.

“Is it inappropriate for me to tell you I’m sporting a semi and would really like to snog you in my bed?” Liam whispers, grinning into the crook of Zayn’s neck.

There’s a sigh, quiet and almost unrecognizable but it’s enough for Liam to pull back.  He presses a smooth kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth before drawing all the way back, keeping his arms around Zayn’s waist while Zayn’s arms fall away.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Liam,” Zayn whines, knitting his brows while offering Liam an incredulous look.  “ _Language_ , Liam.”

Liam shifts his mouth sideways, furrowing his own brow.  “Something’s up, I know.”

“Don’t have to talk about it.”

“Zayn,” Liam says calmly, schooling his frustration though it’s scratching at his skin, stinging against his chest.  “I’m your best mate.”

“I know.”

“And you can talk to me.”

Zayn nods slowly, following along.  Liam wants to throttle him because he knows Zayn’s merely placating him.  He’s simply doing the things Liam wants, responding the way Liam will feel satisfied with.  It’s easier that way, for everyone.  It’s simpler for Zayn to retreat inside of himself rather than lay vulnerable, open for everyone to pick apart.  He’s done it for longer than Liam’s known him and Liam thinks, for a second, he’s never been good at doing it with Liam.

It’s one of the few things Zayn’s given Liam – that endless trust that Liam will ease him through every moment of insecurity.

He can’t afford to lose it now.

“Zayn,” Liam hums, his lips pursing.  He can see the flicker in Zayn’s amber eyes – he’s breaking along the soft edges – before Zayn pouts.  “Please.”

Zayn scrubs a hand down his face, sighing into his palm.  He leans in, burying his face in Liam’s neck for a moment, breathing him in while Liam runs his fingers over the small of Zayn’s back.  It’s a soft pressure, one that has Zayn moaning softly into Liam’s neck before he’s pulling back, sidestepping toward Liam’s bed.

The floor creaks and moans beneath Liam’s bare feet, his toes digging into the carpet before he’s plopping down on the edge of the bed next to Zayn.  He’s sliding a hand into Zayn’s lap, a tight grip on the smile that threatens to push over his lips when Zayn’s hand covers his, fingers piecing together like an abandoned puzzle.  He lets the silence bathe them, tiptoe cold sensations over his skin as Zayn drags sock-covered feet over the carpet – sliding over that deep red stain from where Louis’ spilled that glass of cranberry juice, the small singed portion from Niall learning the importance of not playing with Zayn’s lighter.  He waits with a hum in his throat, eyes flitting from Zayn’s face to his slow rising chest, his jiggling leg, that hand that feels almost like ice against Liam’s.

“My parents were having a row.  A big one this time,” Zayn finally utters, his chin still tucked, eyes on the floor.

“About?”

Zayn clicks his tongue against his teeth, his sigh sounding annoyed.  “Doniya.”

Liam nods, holding his words.  He knows Zayn – he’ll speak when he’s ready.  He’s the definition of patience and Liam’s had to learn how to use it without trying when it came to Zayn.

“They’re quite upset because she doesn’t want to go to Uni once she’s done with Upper Sixth.  She wants to travel, chill out with her mates, have a go at doing something other than school,” Zayn explains, his voice raspy with cigarette smoke.  He drags off his beanie, keeping his head lowered.  “I expected as much, from her.  She’s never liked school or being confined.  I honestly don’t see the problem but they do.  They’re quite upset.”

Liam watches the way Zayn’s hand starts to shake, tightening his fingers around Zayn’s until it subsides a little, a twitch of Zayn’s lips drawing up a small smile.  It’s a start, he knows, but it’s not enough.

“They didn’t know I was listening, actually,” Zayn says, a ghost of a sigh passing his lips before a short laugh follows.  “It was quite easy for them to go from talking about her to having a chat about me.”

Zayn’s eyes slide shut, Liam slipping closer.  He drops his chin to Zayn’s shoulder for a moment, watching Zayn curl into himself.

“They don’t know what I’m gonna do.  Me mum thinks it’s too soon to think about but now me baba wants to sort it out,” Zayn rushes out, inhaling quickly.  Liam lifts his chin, tempted to press a kiss to Zayn’s cheek, stop him but he can’t.  He merely watches.

“He doesn’t want me to go to art school.  He wants me to go to college, University, start a career as a doctor or something important like him,” Zayn says, his voice edgy but there’s a grin on his lips when he turns toward Liam.  It’s a put on, they both recognize it, but Liam merely smiles back.  It unsettles Zayn enough that he leans in to Liam, pressing his forehead to Liam’s.

“You’d do great at art school,” Liam tells him, gnawing at his bottom lip.

Zayn chews at a corner of his own lip, looking up through his lashes.  “He doesn’t want me to throw my life away.  He loves me drawings and sketches.  He begs me to sing for him.  But he thinks it’s a waste.  Everything I want would be a complete _waste_.”

Liam pulls back, shaking his head.  “Nothing you do is a waste.”

Zayn snorts, nodding.  “Figured you’d say that.”

Liam tries not to scowl.  “Zayn Malik – “

“ _Don’t_ Liam,” Zayn whispers, his frown finally creasing his lips.  It’s been waiting, sitting on a sharp piece of his heart and Liam feels himself sink when it appears.  “Don’t do that.  ‘m not here looking for someone to tell me how great I am.  ‘s not what I want from you.”

“Okay,” Liam concedes without regret.  He runs his tongue over his lip, the chapped skin biting.

“I just want,” Zayn pauses, looking thoughtful and uncertain.

Liam wants to run his hand over Zayn’s cheek, drag away that hesitance.  He squeezes Zayn’s thigh instead, offers him a look that tells him to continue.

“Can I stay here tonight?” His voice is small, shy, rounded by big eyes that are pleading with Liam.

Zayn doesn’t have to beg.  He doesn’t even have to ask.

Liam leans back, presenting a wide grin for Zayn that draws a light tint of blush to Zayn’s cheeks, a fumbled grin over his lips.

“Can I get out my _Toy Story_ sheets?” Liam asks, his eyes mere slits of brown with his cheeks pushed up and his smile expanding.

Zayn laughs, a bark of a sound that’s full and very much Zayn.

“I swear I’ll never tell the lads at school that you still sleep with a stuffed Woody doll and _Dark Knight_ posters on your wall,” Zayn teases, reaching out to ruffle Liam’s already mused curls.

“And I won’t tell the chaps about you being afraid of the dark and having _Iron Man_ on your pillows,” Liam jokes back, smacking Zayn’s hand away.

“Hey!  Tony Stark is infinitely cooler than Bruce Wayne.”

“You’re mad,” Liam sputters out, punching Zayn’s thigh.

“Is that a challenge?” Zayn snickers, swatting at Liam’s shoulder.

They’re a symphony of laughs and chuckles, playfully smacking each other and dragging fingers through each other’s hair.  Zayn knocks his shoulder against Liam’s chest, Liam’s knee connecting with Zayn’s ribs.  They’re wrinkled noses, aching cheeks, and everything they were before puberty, kisses, and not knowing the difference between _what was_ and _what is_ existed.

A rough clearing of a throat pulls Liam from his haze, pulling back from Zayn with red cheeks and a lifted brow.  Zayn’s cheeks are wet with tears, his laughing tittering off as they both look on Liam’s mum leaning in the doorway of Liam’s room, smiling grandly with her arms folded over her chest.

“Mummy,” Liam gasps out, knocking Zayn away until they’re no longer a tangle of limbs and swift fingers.

She smiles on Liam, nodding at Zayn for a moment.  “Boys will be boys.”

Liam does his best to fight his smirk, ruffling Zayn’s hair once more.

“Mum, Zayn here is spending the night,” Liam says cheerily, hooking an arm around Zayn’s neck to pull him closer.  He winces a little when she gives him an indignant look, arching an eyebrow at them.  He swallows quickly before adding, “If that’s okay with you?”

His mum is far from stern – that’s his father’s job – but she’s proper, expects nothing less from his sisters and him and knows when one of them is walking a little too far over that fine line.

There’s a moment, one that is far from brief, when he wonders if maybe he doesn’t know the difference.

Something like a flickering firefly dances over her lips – a petite smile.  She nods at Zayn who’s looking a bit sheepish, tucking his bottom lip behind his teeth while looking up through those long lashes.  He’s harmless, she knows, and Liam can’t forget the numerous occasions she’s told Liam how much she loves him – “I swear sunshine, if Tricia ever wanted to give him up, I’d adopt him immediately.  You two are so wonderful together, unlike that Andy,” she’s said.  He wonders how often he’s heard _“unlike that Andy”_ in one sitting.

“I’ll call your mum so that she knows you’re here and will be spending the night with us,” she says, leaning off the doorframe with a warming smile.

Zayn tucks his chin a little, looking up through his lashes like an adolescent.  “Thanks Mrs. Payne.”

“Oh gosh, Zayn, please,” she says with a chuckle, waving him off.  “Call me Karen.  You make me feel so old when you call me Mrs. Payne.”

Zayn snorts, nodding before whispering, “Karen.”

“Now Liam,” she draws out his name like she always done with he’s in trouble or when she really wants him to pay attention.  She waves a pointed finger at him, a smirk curling over the corners of her mouth.  “Don’t go keeping him up all night.”

Liam sighs helplessly, shoulders slumping forward.  “Mummy.”

She shakes her head with a laugh, arms folding over her chest.  “You boys know where the extra linen is if you need it.  And, honestly Liam, clean your room up the next time you have company, yeah?”

She’s giggling as she pulls Liam’s door shut, a quiet sigh following that almost sounds like relief.

It’s not long after that Liam’s room is bathed in only the soft blue light from the television.  The shadows chase over all of the corners, stitching their way over furniture, clean and dirty clothes, neatly arranged shoes, an array of comics, and Liam’s desk.  His lips are fanning gently over Zayn’s neck, Zayn’s nimble fingers casually tracing over the freckles on his bare back while he breathes in everything that is Zayn.

“I can stop,” Liam whispers, teeth biting down on his lip when Zayn’s head remains tipped back, eyes on the ceiling.

“No.”

“Do you want me to give you a wank?” Liam offers, lips finding that space just beneath Zayn’s jaw to press at.

“It’s okay.”

“Zayn,” Liam sighs, his own fingers running quietly over Zayn’s stomach, his thumb sweeping over that thin trail of hair leading into Zayn’s – no, _Liam’s_ – joggers.

“Am I annoying you?” Zayn asks dryly, blinking a few times before dipping his chin to look at Liam.

Liam shakes his head, resting his chin on Zayn’s chest for a moment.  “No.”

“I just,” Zayn swallows, his fingers rising and falling over Liam’s shoulder blade.  “Can you cuddle me?”

Liam bites on his tongue to suppress his giggle.  He hooks his arms around Zayn, pulling him in until they’re lying on their sides with their legs tangled beneath the duvet, the quiet whir of Liam’s ceiling fan louder than the dull murmur of his television.

“This good?” Liam wonders, running his nose over Zayn’s hairline.  He smells like citrus, cold air, the dying scent of that cigarette Liam let Zayn smoke with his window open, half of Zayn hanging out to keep the smoke fanning into the backyard.

“Perfect.”

Liam squeezes tighter, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s forehead.

“You could maybe never let me go?”

He tries not to wince at the dip in Zayn’s voice, incredibly vulnerable, nearly broken.

“Zayn,” Liam drags out, his fingers tracing down the knobs of Zayn’s spine.

“Don’t wan’ talk ‘bout it,” Zayn mumbles into Liam’s neck.

“Fine.” Liam tries not to sound offended but it’s nearly impossible with his best mate curled around him, his lips tracing Zayn’s forehead, and everything feeling warm and bitterly cold at the same time.

“Please,” Zayn requests, his voice still hollowed out.

“Promise to be my best mate through everything,” Liam pleads, eyes sliding shut.  It doesn’t hurt, really, it doesn’t.  But it does.  It aches and he wonders if he needs to hear it from himself more than Zayn.

He wonders if he needs to remind himself that whatever is or isn’t happening won’t change _this_.  This feeling.  This boy.

“That’s easy, babe,” Zayn chuckles, biting softly at Liam’s neck.  He licks at the mark Liam knows he’s left behind.

“Do you like when I snog you?” Liam asks because his mind isn’t exactly working at top speed and he’s sure he loves punishing himself.  Louis tells him so all of the time.

“I don’t like it when you don’t when I know you want to,” Zayn says, not really giving Liam what he wants but he’s okay with that.  He’s not sure he knows what he wants anyway.

“I think you’re a brilliant kisser,” Liam sighs, shrugging.  He’s not certain what else to do.

“You’re better,” Zayn says, a grin pressed to Liam’s birthmark.

“’m not.”

“Don’t argue with me,” Zayn hisses, pinching Liam’s side.  Liam doesn’t flinch, grinning into Zayn’s hair.

“Do you want to give me a wank?”

“Liam.”

Liam hums, swallowing a laugh when Zayn reaches down to palm his cock.  He’s not hard, not yet, and he’s giggling when Zayn tickles his balls, squeezes his thigh.

“This is what I want,” Zayn whispers, his voice faint and pursued by an even quieter yawn.

“What?”

“Being right here,” Zayn says, his voice falling short in the air.  His breathing is evening out, cuddling closer to Liam until Liam’s certain he’s nearly sleep.  He’s convinced until another whisper seeps in, “with you.”

Liam wonders how long before the pounding of his heart wakes Zayn.  It doesn’t and he’s thankful but it doesn’t slow down the rhythm, the way it echoes in his ears.  It leaves his blood hot, his skin too warm and far too tingly.  He tries to close his eyes, will himself to sleep but none of it works.

He’s awake, Zayn curled into him, and he’s never wanted anything other than to remember what it was like to fall asleep without fearing this warmth leaving his arms.

**

"Do you think you're in love with El?"

Liam pretends for a moment the words never came out of his mouth.  He takes in the scene of the cafeteria – there’s Christmas decorations splattered over the walls, the doors entering into the cafeteria, even around some of the tables that a few of the freshers haven’t torn down yet.  There’s garland hanging from the ceilings, paper snowflakes clinging to thin pieces of string.  Snowmen are spray painted on the windows with a plastic Rudolph sitting somewhere in a corner.  A few of the Tenth Year girls wear Santa hats – a few of the guys too but theirs are cocked to the side like something off of MTV – while the Eleventh Year girls stick to sluttier versions of elves with their striped shirts, red and green skirts, and knee-high socks.

He leans back in his chair, the squeak of the plastic ringing in his ears.  He can feel those azure eyes glaring at him, teeth chewing on his bottom lip while avoiding Louis’ gaze for as long as humanly possible.

"Oi, don't be daft," Louis scoffs, tossing his head to the side to flick the fringe from his eyes.  "I'm far too self-centered for such a thing."

"But how would you know if you were?"

Louis shrugs halfheartedly, forking his sliced apples around on his tray.  "Guess I'd have to think about that.  Doesn't matter.  I'd muck it up anyway."

Liam nods slowly.  He doesn’t know what he expected from Louis – a life changing revelation maybe? – but it only leaves him sliding back in his seat, picking at the stupid jumper his mum bought him last Christmas.  He feels his jaw tense when Louis leans forward, that wide, faraway look in his eyes revealing the thoughts behind those lids.

"Why?  Are _you_ in love?" Louis asks, a blinding gleam on his lips.  "Who is she?"

Liam flinches a little, eyes dropping away.

"Or _he_?" Louis' voice borders on ecstatic, hand reaching out to pinch his fingers around Liam's wrist.  "Oi, you little shit.  It is a _he_ , isn't it?  Aww, bless.  If I had to sit through one more night of Harry and Niall – “

"Harry and Niall?" Liam asks, his voice choked.

Louis nods with a self-righteous grin on his lips.  "Fucking hell, Li, you couldn't tell?"

Liam shakes his head quickly, his brain whirring while trying to wrap his head around the concept because Niall is, well, _Niall_ and Harry is a cheeky bastard who flirts with almost anyone, including a few of their teachers – not that it's gotten him many passing grades, but it’s a righteous effort.

"They mostly snog or blow each other after school but I don't take it seriously.  They don’t either.  Harry has that thing for Cher and, honestly, I just think Niall's waiting on Josh to figure out he's into cock, which should be any day now," Louis says candidly, slurping on his apple juice while grinning at Liam.

Liam tries not to let his face completely wrinkle, blinking at Louis for what feels like minutes.  The world feels so foreign and dim.  His fingers rub at his nose, Louis eyeing him like he’s completely manic until he’s laughing at Liam, toying with his fringe while Liam swallows slowly.

If he didn’t know Louis, he’d be more than a little dazed.  Fortunately, it’s just a half-drunk feeling that fizzles when Louis lifts a sharp eyebrow at him.

“So who is it?” Louis wonders, his best attempt at sounding uninterested crashing and burning.  It’s in his eyes, the way they’re almost grayish and a bit frightening.

“Nobody.”  Liam wants to believe his own voice, but it’s strangled.

“You little shit, don’t lie.  You’re horrible at lying,” Louis laughs out, kicking at Liam’s shin.

Liam holds onto his resolve, lifting his eyes from Louis.  He watches Cher dance into the cafeteria, Jesy and Leigh-Anne bookending either side of her.  She’s a sparkler – far too bright but dimming just at the ends.  She’s nothing like the little girl he remembers with the pigtails, the ripped jeans, her head in a good romance novel with a thick pair of glasses.  He thinks he misses that Cher, not that he’s taking the time to really breathe in the woman she’s slowly becoming.

“Do we know him?  Oh for fuck’s sake, it isn’t that loser Aiden is it?  Or that fucker Tom, right?” Louis rattles out, nearly climbing over the table to draw Liam’s attention back.  It’s an effective tactic, Liam crossing his arms over his chest.

His eyes drift from Louis for a moment, chewing at his bottom lip as Harry eases into the empty chair next to Louis, dropping his tray unceremoniously.  There’s a fedora cocked on his head – one that’s probably been confiscated eight times today but he still manages to get it back – with wide green eyes that are overflowing with the sort of happiness that Liam runs from, terrified.

“What are we talking about?” Harry wonders, taking a large bite into his apple.  He nudges Louis with a grin, the smaller boy wrinkling his nose at the amount of rings Harry’s managed to fit on his fingers.

He’s a complete hipster and proud of it.

“Liam here is in love,” Louis says with a smirk, jerking his head toward Liam.

“I’m _not_.  Shut it Lou,” Liam hisses, returning Louis’ kick from earlier.  It does little to deter Louis’ resolute expression.  Liam doesn’t know why he thought it would.

“Oh, so he is?” Harry wonders, his cherry lips spreading into a smirk.  It’s sickening, really.

“Yes, the bloody little twat is in love and he won’t spill on who it is,” Louis huffs out, slouching in his chair.

“It’s nobody,” Liam insists before Harry’s mouth can slide open.  He can already see the questions in his eyes and, fuck, why did he even bother asking Louis about something so stupid?

He’s _not_ in love.  10cc be damned, he’s not.

“Oh, let’s play twenty questions.  Is he a horse?” Harry cheers with an enthusiastic clap.  His dimple is pronounced, cheeks a faded pink, and Liam tries not to smile at the childlike wonder in those emerald eyes.

“Is he a _what_?” Liam spits out.

“So it really is a _he_?  Quite fascinating,” Harry chews out with a triumphant grin.  _Cheeky bastard_.

“It’s not.  You two donuts don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liam says with a scoff, turning his eyes away to watch Niall stumble in with a few of the sports, laughing loudly while tossing a football to Josh.  He wonders how long before that grin on Josh’s lips softens just for Niall.

“Is he a student here?  Oh, fucking hell, are you in love with a bloody teacher?” Louis asks, his tone half-mocking and half-incredulous.

“No.”

“So he’s a student?” Harry hums, leaning in with his elbows on the table.  He arches an eyebrow, Louis inclining until his chin is resting on Harry’s shoulder and he’s tapping impatient fingers on the table.

Liam inhales sharply, trying to remember when all of this was so much simpler.  When all of this was just a kiss between mates.

“He is a _nothing_ and forget we ever had this conversation,” Liam finally snaps out, narrowing his eyes at Harry and Louis until they’re shrugging, falling into their own quiet conversation.  He’s more than certain they’re finding a way to talk about him, piece together stupid clues and wild notions until they have it all figured out.  He wonders which one of them is playing Sherlock Holmes, which one is Watson.  They’re complete idiots and he loves them both more than he thinks he could love anyone.

Yet, he keeps watching the door, hoping Zayn will walk in and settle down next to him, taking his mind from all of this.

It’s a patient wait that weighs on his shoulder, something playing on repeat in the back of his mind – _I’m not in love, so don’t forget it. It’s just a simple phase I’m going through._

**

January is a bitter cold that scrapes along the skin, hollows in every dark corner, dances through the air like a raging fire.  There’s fewer trips down to the lake – even Niall can’t bring himself to sit on the dock and look at the way the water’s frozen over like a sheet of black glass – and Liam’s runs are reduced to those few hours he gives himself after school.  Their film nights come more frequently because there’s not much to do in the city when it’s this cold outside of trips to London or maybe Yorkshire but none of them have a car, not even Louis who is still reeling from his parents not buying him one for his seventeenth birthday the month before.

Louis’ a little more focused on school rather than football – he still wishes he could say the same for Niall – and thankfully Harry’s managed to spend fewer of his afternoons in  detention, choosing to lean over the railing of Niall’s terrace while the others attempt to study.  That never ends well – mainly because Niall can’t focus and Harry always finds a way to distract Zayn – but Louis hangs onto his resolve, only giving up when Harry’s tugging on his foot, Niall gnawing at the nape of his neck while Zayn tugs on his hair.  Liam huddles in a corner and prays he can finish his History homework before Zayn finds him.

The moments with Zayn feel fewer and fewer, not that he notices – okay, yeah, he actually does – but it’s not on purpose.  He makes sure that Zayn stops by for Christmas – _“Please, Zayn, you have to.”_ – and Zayn spends the night buried in Liam’s arms, grinning against Liam’s chest with torn wrapping paper surrounding Liam’s bed, sparkly remnants of garland strung into their hair, and Zayn constantly whispering about the new set of paints – _“You shouldn’t have, babe, really.”_ – into Liam’s jaw.  They crowd into Louis’ basement for New Years, Harry managing to sneak a bottle of dark rum from his stepdad’s collection while Niall brings beer from his dad – _“He said it’s a gift since he knows we’ll be staying in.  A safe bet for teen lads he says.”_ – and Liam pretends not to pull Zayn into a corner at midnight to kiss him with his arms around Zayn’s neck and Zayn’s fingers digging nervously into Liam’s hip.

The moments after school feel far and infrequent with Zayn joining some after school art group – something his mum encourages while his father offers him disapproving looks whenever he comes home with paint drying on his knuckles, dust in his hair, and smudges of charcoal over his cheek – while Liam tries to put his focus into training for cross country and his school work.  He’s at Louis’ more than his own, knees pulled to his chest on Louis’ floor while they go over things Liam still can’t wrap his mind around – because, really, how many teenage boys want to know about bloody fucking wars and the degrees of a triangle.  Zayn comes by on occasion, working Liam through an English paper or two, but those moments feel caged with Louis right there, sipping on a Coke while chatting loudly with Eleanor on the phone.  Harry’s not even enough distraction for Liam to press quiet kisses to Zayn’s cheek, not that he thinks Zayn notices the missed touches.

He doesn’t bother asking Zayn about it – whether he thinks about the kisses, the way Liam’s hand slides his briefs down, the marks Liam’s teeth leave behind after Zayn’s sucked Liam until it’s harder and harder for Liam to breathe.  He keeps it all to himself, never once complaining when Zayn comes by late at night, tossing his skateboard into the bushes before tiptoeing through their kitchen – Zayn knows the spare key is hidden beneath a rock near the back steps – to climb up to Liam’s room.  It’s an hour of messy kisses, stifled laughter, and Liam stroking Zayn’s dick until the only thing uttered past Zayn’s lips is, “ _LiamLiamLiam_.”

Liam mostly palms himself to those images, lying on his back in bed while Zayn pretends to chat about random things on the other side of the phone.  It never lasts – the way they walk on eggshells until one of them finally admits how horny he is, breathless by the end of the conversation that has Zayn’s moans ringing in Liam’s ear and his boxers decidedly damp from where the thick come is sticking to the material.  It’s the mornings after, when Zayn skateboards over to his house extra early – which is still a bit mind-numbing to Liam because Zayn is _not_ a morning person.  Not at all. – just to press a chaste kiss to his lips before Liam’s mum carts them off to school.

He pretends not to love the way Zayn links their fingers in the backseat while Ruth sings along loudly to Bon Jovi and his mum hums happily along, nodding at Liam through the rearview mirror.

It’s al he thinks about on his run that day.  It’s bright like stars behind his eyes and he wants to believe his stomach is tight from the run but it’s not.  His muscles ache, sting with the cold but his stomach is jittery and he only makes it halfway through his light jog, the flakes of snow clinging to his pullover, before he’s making that all too familiar run towards Zayn’s.  The sky is already starting to purple, sweat chilling against his forehead, and he’s running faster than he was before.  He’s climbing those steps that are outlined by nice bushes, breezing past Doniya when she opens the door and he’s in Zayn’s room, hands on his knees with heavy pants breaking through his lips.

“Hey,” he exhales out, lifting his head with bright colors sparking in his eyes from the exhaustion – it’s not because of Zayn, it’s really not – and his hands shaking.

Zayn looks up from his bed, leaning back with all of his weight on his elbows with his glasses perched on the end of his nose.  His wrinkly t-shirt is rucked up, the muscles in his stomach tight and defined under that pale overhead light on Zayn’s ceiling.  His hair is wrecked – probably from Zayn dragging those long fingers through it while studying – with that pink bottom lip shifting beneath Zayn’s teeth.  His bare feet are seated on the bedframe, legs spread with those worn ash gray sweats sitting low on his narrow hips.

Liam drags his tongue over his lips, rubbing at the nape of his neck when Zayn’s eyebrows lift, a small grin settling over his lips.

“Hi,” Zayn croaks out, fingers sliding into that thick, dark hair before he’s pulling off his glasses, dropping them onto the open textbook lying next to him on the bed.  That smile shifts, softens before Zayn’s scratching at his eyebrow, resting in the silence.

Liam nods at him, feeling very daft, before he kicks Zayn’s door shut, locking it.  It’s instinctual now, the way they always lock the door, trap the rest of the world outside while they hover in their own reverie.  He shuffles over to Zayn’s old computer desk, the one with the worn wood and coffee stains, colored pencils spilled across it, sharp colors etched into the wood from where Zayn’s gotten rather jovial with his colored Sharpie’s.

He plops down on the chair, the one with the cracked leather and the back that reclines too far backwards without much effort now.  The cushion has thinned, leaving not much protection between the leather and a hard surface below his bum.  It squeaks when Liam rocks in it, the wheels dragging roughly over the floor.

Liam rubs at the end of his nose, his cheeks still a bit chilled before scrubbing the end of his pullover across his forehead, wiping away the sweat.  He flicks off his trainers, grinning when they tumble under Zayn’s bed – those practices with Louis really were paying off.  He tugs off his sweater, laying it across the back of the chair before glancing to the corner, smiling at that silly red beanbag that has the large stretch of silver duct tape stitching up the section that ripped when Harry flopped down on it particularly hard.  His curls are limp on his head, damp from the sweat and his socks drag over the floor for a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip when he looks up to a curious Zayn.

“Out for a run?” Zayn asks, his brow lifting again.

Liam nods briskly, his curls shaking a little.  He pushes his hair back, sticky-sweet grin on his lips.

“And you came by because,” Zayn drags out the last word, rubbing at his chin.

“Um, I was,” Liam inhales sharply, the drag of clean oxygen still burning against his lungs.  It’s a rich feeling, that sting from a good run.  “I was thinking about you.”

“You could’ve called,” Zayn says with a snort, pushing up a little more on his elbows.  His legs spread a bit further, toes twiddling.

Liam nods, the tops of his ears a hot red.  He pushes his fingers through the damp curls again, unconsciously resting a hand over his crotch, a soft squeeze.

“I wanted to _see_ you,” Liam insists, leaning forward a little.  He bats his lashes, his grin spreading when Zayn nods back.  “I just, um, I really wanted to see you and that’s probably stupid.  I probably look like a complete idiot.”

“Not complete,” Zayn smiles back.

Liam chuckles, his shoulders lifting with his laugh.  “Thanks.”

“You wanted to see,” Zayn reaches out to run a hand over his thigh, fingers trickling inward, “ _me_?”

Liam swallows, cheeks heating.  His teeth bite down on his lip, soft and delicate with just enough pressure that it’s distracting.

“Because I was thinking about you,” Liam adds.

Zayn nods again, his smile darker, eyes narrowing.  “Thinking about what?”

Liam leans back, not too far, eyes widening.  Those fingers, nimble and confident, are rubbing gently over Zayn’s crotch, slow motions that Liam tries to pry his eyes from.  Up, down, stroke, grab, Liam’s breathing accelerating.

“You,” Liam breathes out, his voice undeniably shaky.

“What else?”

“Seeing you?” Liam offers with a shrug, watching fingers wrapping around a painfully evident erection.  His breathing stutters, his own hand absentmindedly grabbing at his cock, stroking the semi with a quick thumb.

Zayn smirks, his mouth tipping sideways.  “Liam, did you come over here because you wanted to fuck?”

When Liam chokes on a breath, Zayn releases an echoing laugh.  His hand drops away, feet kicking with his giggles before he’s shaking his head at Liam.

“You’re so easy.”

Liam thinks to flip him off but his hand is still gripping his cock through his joggers, his other fingers gripping tightly onto the arm of that beaten up chair.

“You should see your face,” Zayn huffs out with another laugh, wiping at his eyes.

“Pull it out.”

There’s a crack of silence, the muted sounds of the television trying to cut through the sound of Liam’s calm breaths, Zayn’s heavier ones.  Zayn’s wide-eyed, his brow nearly touching his hairline while Liam remains stern, steady.  Zayn’s mouth falls open, no words escaping but Liam can read the question in those gold-freckled eyes.  He merely strokes his palm over his cock through his sweats, nodding at Zayn.

“You want – “

“C’mon Zayn,” Liam hisses, his thumb finding the crown of his prick through the thick material.  Gentle rub, fuck, it feels _amazing_.  He jerks his head at Zayn.  Dark eyes flit over Zayn’s hand, the one that’s slowly moving back to his thigh.  It slides inward, a gleam passing over Liam’s lips before he’s whispering, “Take it out, babe.  Touch yourself for me.”

There’s a hesitation, soft moan falling across Zayn’s lips before it’s a flash of movements, Zayn shucking down his joggers and pants.  He’s palming himself, slow, cautious until Liam sinks his teeth into his lip, nodding at Zayn.

Liam takes in Zayn’s thighs, soft, downy hair scattered over them.  The wiry hair surrounding his cock is thinner than Liam’s, looking nearly shaven.  It’s shadowy, a skinny trail running up to just below Zayn’s navel.  His cock is dark, throbbing in Zayn’s hand, lazy and slow strokes pulling out thick drops of precome.  Those fingers, with the small scratches and bruises from a few falls while skateboarding, look gorgeous against the taut skin of Zayn’s prick.  His balls pull up a little, his thumb circling the head, dabbing at the slit until a shiny string of precome sticks to the pad.

Zayn’s chest rises and falls quickly, his teeth worrying his bottom lip while he looks up through those lengthy lashes.  His brows narrow, a shivering moan passing his raw lips, and Liam wants to kiss him.  He wants to press his mouth firmly to Zayn’s and swallow each one of his breaths.  He steadies himself, watching the way Zayn’s fingers flex around his cock.  The grip is a little firmer, his jaw going slack, head tipping back.

“A little faster, babe,” Liam says, shocked by how deep his voice drops.  He nods his head a little, adding, “C’mon, you can do it.”

Zayn groans lowly, trying to suffocate the noise because his sisters are downstairs playing, Doniya probably getting dinner started before Zayn’s mum comes home.  His toes wiggle, the muscles of his stomach tightening and Liam wants to push that shirt further up Zayn’s body, run his eyes over that slight definition, Zayn’s nipples.  He bites at the edge of his tongue, squeezing his cock a little tighter until he can feel the precome soaking through his briefs.

He eyes Zayn’s hand again, the quick twist at the head, the way the strokes are a little faster, sloppier.  His teeth sink down hard on his bottom lip, Zayn’s eyes growing darker, wider as his thumb rubs just beneath the crown.  Liam’s eyes shift shut for a beat, maybe longer, stroking himself through his joggers until he feels dizzy, his throat dry.  He bats them open when the slick sound of flesh on flesh echoes in his ears, grinning when he sees the slick shine to Zayn’s prick and the open bottle of lube resting next to his hip.

“Wasn’t wet enough,” Zayn gasps, fingers tightening around the head, “that okay?”

Liam nods slowly, spreading his legs a little further when a shuddering breath passes through Zayn’s lips.  He’s drowning on his own nirvana, nipping at the tip of his tongue when Zayn’s licks out, wets his lips.  Those lips that Liam’s aching to kiss, bite at while Zayn’s back arches.

Zayn fucks into his hand for a moment, drunk off the pleasure.  His eyes are lidded, lips parted, and Liam’s palming lightly at his own cock, dragging out the release.

“Liam,” Zayn says softly, each of the letters spreading over his tongue like sweet candy.  “So close.”

Liam rubs at his neck, his chest, his body a roaring fire.  He catches himself hiccupping out a moan, leaning forward, his spine coiling.  The way Zayn’s fingers shift, spread out over his flushed cock, toes curling.  The way Zayn’s legs spread, inviting, teeth gnawing at his lip.  His skin is coloring, a deep red from his neck down to his chest.  His stomach muscles are tightening and releasing as his hand moves in a blur.  Liam licks at his dry lips, the tension in Zayn’s thighs, the way the muscles in his forearm stand out as he grips himself tighter, _tighter_.

“Wait,” Liam gasps out, the slick sound of Zayn’s palm against his cock an echo he wants to remember days from now when he’s in the shower, jerking his own dick until he’s coming against the wall with Zayn’s name on his tongue.

Liam scrambles over to the bed, catching Zayn a little off guard but then there’s a welcome smile, a tilt of Zayn’s chin as he wanks himself slower, painfully slow.  He strokes the head, the precome clear and thick.  Liam swallows, tries to find a piece of air that doesn’t taste like Zayn’s heady scent, that sharp musk and sweat that’s sliding down Zayn’s thighs, between his cheeks.  It’s clawing at his skin, a soft purr from Zayn’s lips when Liam runs his hands between Zayn’s thighs, that damp hair curling.  There’s a mild protest from Zayn when Liam swats his hand away, wiping that sticky lube on the sheets while Liam eyes Zayn’s cock, flushed and throbbing against Zayn’s stomach.

He’s never done this.  Zayn’s done it enough times to him now that he finds it hard to imagine not having Zayn’s mouth wrapped around his cock, slurping like Liam’s prick is his favorite dessert.  He’s between Zayn’s spread thighs, gripping the base of Zayn’s cock, licking his tongue out over the wet head.  It’s salty, tangy from the lube, that heavy smell of heat, sweat, indescribable scent of a boy that rolls against Liam’s senses.

There’s a quiet hand on his head, not pushing, gently nudging from time to time as Liam licks around the head, tongue sliding between the slit.  Deep breaths, anticipation overriding concern, and Liam’s sliding Zayn’s cock past his lips, over his tongue.  Those fingers pinch at his scalp, a slow hiss dragging past Zayn’s lips and Liam does his best to smile around Zayn’s cock.  It breaks his concentration, the way Zayn’s hips roll a little, but he swallows and eases further down.

He doesn’t force himself, taking Zayn halfway before dragging back up.  He cups his lips over his teeth – a trick he might’ve learned from the few times Zayn’s teeth scraped unkindly over his own cock – before hollowing his cheeks.  He bobs slowly, building speed, kissing his thumb and knuckles every time he slips a little lower.  He pulls at Zayn’s prick when he laps at the head, his tongue flat, that bitter precome turning unimaginably sweet on the tip of his tongue.  The tip running beneath the head, tickling Zayn, his grin spreading when Zayn kicks with a laugh, pulling at Liam’s curls.

“Mmm,” Liam hums, loving the sting of his hair being pulled.  His cheeks flush because, fuck, _where did that come from?_ When did he imagine that being a turn on?  He lets the thought pass, slurping around the head of Zayn’s cock, trying not to frown when saliva slides from the corners of his lips, coating his fingers.

“Babe,” Zayn heaves out, thighs tightening around Liam’s head, boxing his ears.  It muffles the sound of Zayn’s next mewl, Liam sliding further down.  “A little faster, yeah?”

Liam nods as best he can with a cock nearly touching the back of his throat.  He pulls up with a deep inhale, the head popping wetly from between his lips before he shuts his eyes, plunges back down.  He feels himself trying to gag, pulling back quickly but keeping that hot, stiff prick in his mouth.  His tongue laps at the underside, Zayn shivering, drawing back to suckle the head.

“Liam,” Zayn gasps, shaking.

Liam moans around Zayn, finding an even pace while his hand reaches out for something.

Zayn whimpers, legs spreading again while Liam smiles, the sound of the top of the lube popping dead beneath the sound of Zayn’s heaving breaths.  He knows he’s spilling it all over Zayn’s sheets, trying to manage some form of coordination while bobbing on Zayn’s prick, stroking his shaft, and coating his fingers but it all falls apart with Liam nearly choking on Zayn’s cock and the lube tumbling to the floor.

“Easy, babe,” Zayn gasps, lurching up to rub against Liam’s cheek, pulling him back until Zayn’s cock slaps against his stomach, coated in saliva and shining beneath the light.

Liam nods, swallowing quick breaths.  His chest is heaving, the rise and fall a little too quick for his lungs to catch up, before he’s licking his lips – salty, sweet, thick precome resting on the edge – and palming Zayn’s cock.  He grips it tightly, lining it back up before his lips part, swollen and achy, his jaw flexing at the sight of the wet head.

Lust swallows him, spits him back out before he’s ready.  He’s slowly grinding his hips against Zayn’s mattress, looking up through blonde lashes to watch Zayn run his tongue over his lips, eyes darker than the shadows outside.  He sinks a little further down, his hands splaying over Zayn’s stomach to calm the way Zayn wants to buck into his mouth, shove his cock further.  He uses it all to his advantages, the way Zayn’s legs shift further apart, his mouth dropping open.  He circles Zayn’s hole – another first that he’s making note of, not that he hasn’t thought about it – before pushing at it with his index finger.

“Fuck,” Zayn gasps, shifting his hips to give Liam more room to work with.

Liam tries to smile around Zayn’s cock, fails, but his determination crackles through his bones.  He pushes past the ring, Zayn immediately clenching around his finger, but he lets Liam push further in.

Zayn sniffs, head dropping back, fingers curling into the sheets as Liam fingers him, rotating inside of Zayn, pulling back before driving back in.  He feels the way Zayn’s thighs tremble, biting down on a groan while Liam clears his throat, nearly takes Zayn to the back of his throat.  He’s impressed with himself, swallowing around Zayn’s cock, inching in a second finger that has Zayn whimpering, pleading for air.  He smiles around the head when Zayn’s spine finally arches, slipping further in and rubbing the head over the ridges of Liam’s mouth.

“I’m gonna – “

Liam drags his teeth along the thick vein, scissoring his fingers inside of Zayn.  Zayn’s tighter around his digits, his skin feathering with blush and Liam knows this feeling.  His cock is rubbing roughly against his briefs, Zayn’s cooing through sharp breaths, and, yeah, he knows Zayn’s going to come.

He pulls off, the wet sound pinging in his mind before he’s stroking Zayn, quick and hurried.  He’s fucking into Zayn with his fingers, watching the way Zayn’s arching off the bed, jerking at the sheets, clambering for air.  He’s a piece of artwork, gorgeous lines, smudges of color, breathtaking from every angle.  Liam wonders if it’ll be the same, the first time he lets Zayn slide his fingers inside of him, push his thick cock inside of Liam until there’s no beginning to Zayn and no end to Liam.

Fuck, he wants it more than ever.

“’m gonna – “

“C’mon, Zayn,” Liam heaves out, quickening the thrust of his hips against Zayn’s bed, rocking the frame.

“Liam, need to,” Zayn gasps, his body twisting.

“Gonna feel so good,” Liam whispers, his voice so deep, drenched in desire.

“You’re so good,” Zayn hisses, his chest lifting and falling rapidly.  “Need you.”

“’m here.”

“Just a little faster.  Harder.  C’mon Li.”

It’s a shattering of glass when Zayn comes.  Liam leans in close, grinning when the first few spurts color Zayn’s stomach.  He pulls on Zayn’s cock, angling it, his tongue poking out to catch a few drops.  It catches him on the chin, the corner of his bottom lip while Zayn looks on.  He’s wrecked, shivering, biting down hard on his bottom lip while fucking into Liam’s fingers, sinking back down onto the fingers Liam still has buried inside of his hole.  It’s incredible and hot and, fuck, Liam’s coming in his own sweats while grinding down against the edge of Zayn’s mattress.

“Oh, Liam,” Zayn gasps out, trembling while coming down, dragging his hands over the mattress while Liam palms his cock, gently removing his fingers.

Liam presses his face into the soft space of Zayn’s inner thigh, breathing him in, dropping his hand away while he tries not to shake through the last of his orgasm.  He lays gentle kisses there, grinning at the way Zayn drags his fingers through Liam’s damp curls, pushing them backward.

“Amazing,” Zayn breathes out, a smile in his voice.

“You are,” Liam mumbles against Zayn’s skin, a soft bite leaving behind a red mark.  “You’re amazing, Zayn.”

He hears the soft chuckle passing through Zayn’s lips, dragging Zayn’s come over his upper thigh, using the back of his hand to wipe away the rest.  He’s wrecked, shoulders slumped, feeling overwhelmed but Zayn’s right there, dragging him up, hugging him tightly like it’s all he wants to do.

Zayn sneaks Liam into the bathroom to clean up, rushing downstairs when his mum comes home.  Liam can hear Zayn’s pleas from the banister when he asks if Liam can stay the night, something Liam didn’t have intentions to do but how could he deny Zayn with those eyes, those lips that were sliding into a frown?  Zayn’s mum gives Liam a glowing smile when he tiptoes downstairs, pulling him into a hug – she always smells of cinnamon and summer flowers – before dishing them out plates of Shepard’s Pie.  She shoos away Zayn’s sisters to finish their homework, patting Zayn’s head before agreeing to let Liam stay, rushing them off to Zayn’s room so she can clean the kitchen, put together a plate for Zayn’s father who works late most nights, stumbling in a little after ten.

It’s after midnight when they’re lying on their backs in Zayn’s bed, the duvet spread out over their legs with the sheets wrinkled beneath them.  Zayn’s head is resting on a fluffed up pillow, Liam’s head pressed into Zayn’s shoulder.  They’re only in their briefs even though it’s decidedly cold outside, the chill creaking in through Zayn’s window.  He thinks maybe it’s an excuse for Zayn to curl in closer to him, wrap his leg over Liam’s hip, nuzzle his nose to Liam’s cheek.  He doesn’t mind.  He merely shifts closer, breathing against Zayn’s temple, lips running over the surface of Zayn’s face.

His skin feels incredible, alive brushing next to Zayn’s, a smile curled on his lips.  His thoughts are scattered, tiny pricks of wonder that keep surging through his bones.  He does his best to ignore them, dragging his lips under Zayn’s eyes, kissing the tip of Zayn’s nose.  He shifts under the weight of Zayn’s palm, letting it run down his bare chest, across his ribs.  It’s sobering, the way he doesn’t want the morning to come.

He wants the night to crawl over them, the darkness to slide over their skin, the quiet to hold them while they linger here with touches and small kisses.

It’s nearly one when he shifts, lashes sweeping over Zayn’s cheek, a rough kiss pressed to the corner of Zayn’s mouth.  Zayn’s drawing over his skin with a Sharpie – neon green this time – turning his head a little to offer Liam a quick kiss before giving his attention back to the way the marker scrapes over Liam’s tan skin.

“What is this?” Liam wonders, quiet and unsure.

“ _This_?” Zayn asks, eyes still astutely watching the way the green slides over the sun-kissed skin.

Liam clears his throat, his nose brushing over the shell of Zayn’s ear, lips kissing at the black diamond in Zayn’s lobe.

“You and me,” Liam says, his words still uncertain.  He lets courage build, exhaling deeply.  “This thing that you and me keep doing.  What is it?”

Zayn nods, digging the point in a little too roughly.  Liam watches his eyelashes fan over his cheek, his nose scrunching.  Zayn’s lips fit together, pursing a little.  He thinks maybe he should’ve just swallowed the words, laid in this quiet reverie for a little longer until Zayn fell asleep in his arms, letting the thoughts die in his throat.

“I don’t know.”

Liam’s shaken by the sound of Zayn’s voice, raw and hushed.  He flits his eyes from Zayn’s face, looking on the bright green on the inside of his forearm – _‘Z + L’_

His heart is restless for a moment, tipping his head back.  He chews on a smile when Zayn’s mouth settles against his neck, nosing the skin there.  He pulls Zayn in, turning slightly to tangle their legs while Zayn drapes an arm over Liam’s chest.

“You’re my best mate,” Zayn mumbles against Liam’s skin.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know if I want to ever lose that,” Zayn adds, his voice a little broken.

“You won’t,” Liam says, trying to believe himself.  He does.  He’d never let Zayn go.

“Is that good?” Zayn wonders, his head easing back, lips kissing at Liam’s jaw.

Liam nods, breathing out a smile.  “’s good.”

“Liam.”

Liam tucks his chin, blinking down at Zayn.  There’s a glow about him, a shifting uneasiness in his eyes, his skin a tinted gold with his mouth struggling against a frown.

“Zayn,” Liam says, clearing his throat.  “It’s good.  I’m always here.”

Zayn nods, dropping his chin.  He cuddles closer, their skin touching at points that weren’t met before.  Zayn’s toes wiggle over Liam’s ankle, Liam’s hand shifting down Zayn’s spine, their lips meeting briefly.

He waits until Zayn’s breathing evens out, his head resting on Liam’s chest with his hair tickling Liam’s chin, before he reaches for that damn Sharpie.  His fingers curl around it, popping the top before he’s inching it down to the back of Zayn’s hand.  The touch is light, his handwriting shit as he scrawls across Zayn’s skin, praying not to wake him.  He bites down on a grin, squinting his eyes against the darkness of the room, that washed out light from the street lamps outside not giving off enough glow.  He smirks, pleased, capping the Sharpie before admiring his work – _‘happy birthday zaynie! Z + L’_

It’s good.  It’s all it has to be, for now.

**

He can’t help it, the way he keeps stroking his fingers over his head.  It’s weird, the sharp draft he feels all the time, the way his hair is shorn and prickles against the tips of his fingers.  The way it tickles his palm when he goes to grab for curls – they’re probably lying somewhere on Harry’s bathroom floor still, collecting dust – and he keeps coming up with nothing.  Nothing but sharp pricks against his skin, everything completely buzzed, pieces of himself left behind without a second thought.

He made a _very high_ Harry,, who’s words drug out painfully slow the whole night – “Like, you’re sure about this, right?  Because, fuck, we can _not_ do this.  We can get you high, drink some beers, like, I don’t know.” – and a _slightly_ tipsy Niall help him do this.  He shoved the clippers into Harry’s palm, gripped Niall’s hand and watched the curls, that thick length fall over his shoulders, feathering like large clumps of snow to the tiled bathroom floor.  He watched Niall panic, Harry move with a shaky hand, and he nodded along to comfort them more than himself.

He didn’t need comfort; he needed an escape.

His mum nearly had a heart attack – he knows because she was short of breath for nearly an hour while Nicola and Ruth stared at him, wide-eyed with their mouths open – while his father eyed him for a long time, studying his face, before nodding and patting him on the shoulder.  He didn’t know if it was approval or just his father’s way of understanding teenage anarchy but it was just enough for him to shower and tuck himself into his bed, trying to calm his own breathing.  He wasn’t panicking.  He was trying to remind himself that life was different; _he_ was different.

His mum eventually stopped going ghostly white whenever she saw him, complimenting the way it brought out the features in his face, his nose, made his eyes look brighter.  He thinks it just made him look younger – _good job Payne,_ not _what you were going for_ – and his cheeks seemed rounder, eyebrows thicker, his mouth too big.  Louis laughed at him for ten minutes, doubled over with his hands on his knees and his face a cherry red.  When he stopped, wiping away the tears, he patted Liam’s shoulder with a nod, like Liam’s father, before laughing all over again.  Liam tried not to dump Louis’ body in a bin that day.

Zayn.  Zayn stared at him for what felt like too long.  He watched Liam, the way Liam shifted from foot to foot, rubbing at the nape of his neck, blush settling against his cheeks.  Zayn stared at him with a blank expression, his tongue repetitively licking over his lips until they were shiny and too slick.  It made Liam feel small, confused, alone.

“You look _sharp_ ,” Zayn whispered later on, in the dark of Liam’s room with his hands rubbing over Liam’s head, his lips stroking Liam’s ear.  “You look amazing.  Like Liam.”

It was the most comforting thing anyone had said and he let Zayn – _only Zayn_ – run his fingers over his prickly hair until Zayn was content, smiling against Liam’s cheek, decorating his lips with sharp kisses that hurt and rippled through his body.

“You look fine,” Zayn whispers to him, squeezing his thigh beneath the table.

Liam nods, fingers still moving absently over his scalp until that feeling in his stomach calms, his breathing finding a normal pace.

They’re at some dive of a restaurant on the far side of town for Harry’s birthday.  Harry’s already done the family thing with his parents, a couple of family members from Chapel Holmes, but now it’s just the five of them, Eleanor, and his sister, Gemma.  They’re crowded into this dim lit place where everything is a bit loud, rough, where no one really cares that Louis’ sipping on a beer or that Niall may or may not be just a little high.  It’s clattering plates, waitresses who chew bubble gum while taking orders, a live band that plays music Liam’s never heard of, and Harry’s grin brighter than the most brilliant side of the moon.

“This place is brilliant,” Harry gleams, nicking Louis’ beer from his to take a sip.  He ignores the way Gemma slaps his arm, smirking at her with foam bubbled over his upper lip.

“This place is _shit_ Haz,” Niall laughs out, munching into his burger with a grin.

“A bit low class,” Louis hums, sliding an arm around Eleanor’s tense shoulders.  “Suits you Hazza.”

Harry nods, completely blind to Louis’ remark.  Gemma merely giggles into her hand, rolling her eyes when Louis’ cheeks lift with a smile.  He waggles his eyebrows at her and she flips him off timely.

“Interesting way to celebrate your sixteenth birthday, yeah?” Zayn teases, stealing a chip from Liam’s plate.  Liam doesn’t bother to swat away his hand, to content at the way Zayn smiles around his fingers, licking away the salt with the tip of his tongue.

Harry grumbles, tipping his head back with a laugh when Niall nearly knocks over his own beer and the waitress eyes them, shrugging before sliding a plate of chips to Niall.

“You lot really are mental,” Gemma teases, tangling her fingers in Harry’s curls.

“Just a tad,” Louis says with a shrug, his nose crinkling when Eleanor sighs contently.

“It’ll get better later,” Niall whispers – well, he tries to but it’s a bit ineffective with the sweet combination of alcohol and weed – into Harry’s ear, Liam shivering with that leer on Niall’s lips, “when I got my lips wrapped around your – “

“Oi, Nialler,” Louis huffs, tossing a balled napkin at Niall’s head.

Harry’s cheeks are flushed a deep red.  Gemma’s eyeing Niall like she has intentions of drowning him in his own beer, Eleanor’s squirming, and Zayn’s leaning into Liam’s shoulder, giggling with his nose pressing to Liam’s cheek.

“That sounds _sick_ ,” Harry mutters, still a little starry-eyed.

“That _is_ sick,” Louis says with a scowl, Gemma’s face a pale shade of white.

“He’s my little brother, Ni, okay?” Gemma reminds him, reaching past Harry to shove roughly at Niall’s shoulder.

“Which means you’re off limits?” Niall wonders, scratching the back of his head with a bruising red hue to his cheeks.

Gemma scoffs while Harry’s eyebrows shift unpleasantly, Zayn again tipping into Liam with a laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes, wrinkles his nose.

Eleanor tenses again when the band strikes up into a rather loud number, squeezing at Louis’ hand while Gemma leans forward to snatch the waitress’ attention, ordering a beer.  Louis eases into Eleanor, kissing softly at her cheek until she’s giggling and dropping her shoulders.  Liam watches attentively, running his fingers over the tip of his nose.  Louis’ softer, a bit quieter, if not more relaxed with her.  Each touch seems to have a purpose, a small collide with her uneasiness and everything settles.

He wonders, briefly, if that’s what love was.  Undefined, undetectable by Louis, but personified when it mattered the most.

“Drink up little bro,” Gemma grins out while shoving a beer at Harry who’s too caught up in the way Niall’s stringing fingers through his curls and whispering – things Liam doesn’t ever want to hear – into his ear, those dimpled cheeks flaring up with a bright pink again.  Gemma shoves Niall away, groaning, before Harry’s gulping half the beer with a middle finger salute directed at a scoffing Louis.

Liam smiles, leaning into the gentle touch of Zayn’s fingers, the ones that are rubbing kind shapes across the back of his head.  The movement of his buzzed hair tickles, Zayn’s dull fingernails digging into his skin until there’s a shiver running sideways across Liam’s spine.  He doesn’t flinch when Zayn leans in to press a sloppy, friendly kiss to his cheek, trying to remember when kisses like that were just that – _friendly_.

“Oh Liam,” Gemma sighs out, a lifting grin on her lips as she toys with one of the many necklaces hanging from Harry’s neck – a cross hanging from a thick rope.  She smirks, a bit off center and cheeky before adding, “This is quite a brilliant gift.”

Liam chews on his lower lip, nodding.

“Not quite as brilliant as the gift he got Zayn for his birthday though,” Harry teases, reaching across the table to toy with Zayn’s thick quiff.  Zayn quickly smacks his hand away, lips curling into a sneer.

“Permanent, yeah?” Louis laughs out, reaching to rub at Zayn’s hip.

Zayn rolls his eyes, flicking Louis’ fingers away after they’ve pulled up the hem of his shirt.  Liam glances down to the thick heart, the dark ink spread over Zayn’s skin.  It’s not his first – Zayn already got his grandfather’s name inked on his chest days before Christmas – but it felt like something kind of important.  It felt like a moment, Zayn’s fingers tightening around Liam’s while the artist sketched black ink across olive skin.  It felt like a bond, Liam standing behind Zayn as he looked in the mirror, grinning and awe-stricken before grabbing Liam’s hand, dragging it to feel across the raised skin.  Liam still holds his breath, the way it felt across the tips of his fingers, the way Zayn’s hand covered his while they touched it together.  And maybe it was something stupid between mates, just a silly gift that Liam saved all of his pounds from shoveling snow for, that he surprised Zayn with because Zayn didn’t know where they were headed the afternoon of his birthday when they caught the bus into the city.

Just something forgettable, except it was permanently inked into Zayn’s skin like Zayn has managed to ink himself into Liam’s life.

He ducks his head, trying to preserve some of his dignity but it feels impossible with the heat against his cheeks feeling something like a wildfire.  He feels Zayn’s fingers on the nape of his neck, light and delicate, and he wants those sets of eyes from his mates to find something else to focus on.  He wants his own heart to stop that pounding against his chest that leaves his palms sweaty, his temples aching, and everything in the room spinning.

“Oi, look at ‘em,” Louis teases, leaning toward Eleanor while eyeing Liam.

“Quite brilliant, you two,” Niall adds, an uneven grin on his lips.

“Yeah, I’m actually quite jealous.  Zayn is Liam’s favorite,” Harry says, a laugh sliding behind his words.  “His _best_ mate.”

“Be quiet you lot, yeah?” Zayn demands before the laughter swallows Liam whole.  The palm of his hand is warm on Liam’s neck, almost possessive.  “Liam is _my_ favorite, you pricks.”

“Oi, that hurts lads, yeah?” Louis says, his voice slightly wounded.

Zayn snorts, shaking his head.  “Nothing hurts you, Lou.  You’ve got a heart made of stone.”

Harry and Niall fall into each other laughing while Louis flips Zayn off, biting down on his own smirk.

“Need a smoke,” Zayn says lowly, clearing his throat before scooting his chair back.  “Nialler?”

Niall looks up with a grin, cerulean eyes glazed over with ruddy cheeks.  He’s nodding quickly, pulling from the small tangle he has with Harry to stand with Zayn.

Liam watches with careful eyes as Zayn pulls a pack of cigarettes from his varsity jacket, tapping the bottom before pulling one out and rolling it between his fingers.  Harry’s hovering over his beer while Gemma engages in some wild conversation with Louis that may or may not be about circus animals.  The band slides into something vaguely familiar as Zayn runs a quick hand over Liam’s head, smiling down at him before ducking out to the terrace with Niall in a slow, dragging pursuit.

“You seem happy.”

Liam blinks away from where that smoke is clouding the shapes and shadows of Zayn and Niall.  He shifts in his seat, teeth gripping his bottom lip – _Wait, keep me in your skin. Keep me in your chest. I’ll wait for it to start. I’ll wait for it to end_ – before he settles his brown eyes on Eleanor.  She eases strands of her wavy brown hair behind her ear, cheeks tinting a faint rose.

“ _Happier_ ,” Eleanor corrects, fluttering long lashes.  “Like you’re more in place than you were.”

Liam smiles evenly, swallowing a small chuckle.  He wonders how bright he glows under her gaze.  His fingers are shifting over his thigh, crawling for something else.

“There is a little something different about ‘im, yeah?” Louis notes, leaning his head against Eleanor’s.

“Happy chappie,” Harry giggles out, slurping on his beer.  Gemma sighs happily, nodding at Liam.

“Maybe it’s the hair,” Liam offers, shoulders lifting carelessly.  He slumps over some, tries to keep his eyes from seeking out that grayish smoke, the wiry form hidden behind it.

“Nope.  Not it,” Harry snorts, pushing at his curls.  He flicks his head, shaking them from his glassy green eyes.  “Something else.”

“Something like love,” Louis murmurs, lifting his brow.  Liam winces, folding up a little – _We were young. We were in our teens. It wasn’t real love, spent behind bars._

“It’s nothing,” Liam sighs out, trying to pull the corners of his lips into a grin.  It comes out indifferent, something tightening in his chest.

“Maybe he’s just shagging someone?” Harry guesses.

“Liam Payne,” Louis hums, a glint in those impossibly dark blue eyes, “you naughty boy.”

Liam huffs out a breath, narrowing his eyes at Louis until that grin dims a little.

“Not,” Liam grumbles, lowering his head again while chewing off the other colorful choice in words he has for Louis and Harry.

“Hmm, still a virgin,” Louis notes with a small nod, tempered smile on his lips.  “Good on you, mate.”

“It’s nice,” Eleanor insists, reaching over the table to rub his fingers over Liam’s knuckles.  “I like this Liam.”

“This Liam,” he repeats softly, trying to wrap his tongue around the concept.  It flutters, pulls at the strings, gripping him.  He splays his fingers over the table – _Oh, it’s sad to think, we just let it be. Prisoners of love_ – something missing between the spaces.

“I think ‘s the hair,” Gemma insists, pulling Harry closer, tangling her own fingers in Harry’s curls.  They meld together – the same smile, same dimple, same glimmer to their eyes.

“Whatever it is,” Louis hums, tilting his beer to his lips, “I like it.”

Liam nods, rolling over the words in his heads while they all fall back into a fickle chat about meaningless things.  It all seemed _meaningless_ for minutes, the noise, the echo against the walls, the blurred lines in his mind – _It’s so easy for it to be something second guessed_ – until the chair next to him his drug back, the wood screeching over the tiled floor.  He runs his tongue over his lips, that hovering scent of smoke breathed in, a hand settling back into his lap just that easily.

Zayn falls into the conversation without missing a beat, his thumb stroking Liam’s inner thigh, his laugh loud and wheezing.  There’s solid glances at Liam, soft around the edges, just glimmering over Liam.  They don’t stay, those glowing hazel eyes, but they fall on Liam frequently until he’s holding his breath while waiting to find those lashes again.

It’s a rolling ache just below his stomach, his fingers stretching over the cuts on Zayn’s knuckles, the empty space where his fingers fit between Zayn’s.  No one pays attention, they never do – _Don’t let it become a meaningless routine. It’s meaningless to me_ – and Zayn keeps his eyes on Louis, Eleanor, dancing over Gemma before he’s looking at Liam again with a small grin.  He’s nodding along to whatever Niall’s saying but having his own conversation with Liam in silence.

“Seriously, my little bro is shacking up with some kid who wears snapbacks,” Gemma snorts, tousling Harry’s curls before sticking her tongue out at Niall.

Niall shrugs, completely unaffected.  It’s not up for debate or argument, _ever_.  Niall doesn’t give a shit if he looks like a douche with them on or not and, Liam thinks, it’s probably the best part about Niall.

“Better than the guy who doesn’t wear socks,” Eleanor teases, giggling when Louis makes a face.

“Or the guy who skateboards,” Harry says with large eyes and a bellyaching laugh.

Zayn twists his lips sideways, ignoring Harry’s laughing.  He leans back in his chair, reaching up to run his fingers over the sparse bits of scruff on Liam’s chin.  His thumb and forefinger rub there, tiny glances at Liam while Liam falls into some dying conversation with Eleanor about their Chemistry course.  Liam pretends not to love the way he can feel Zayn’s eyes on him – attentive and captivated – while those fingers brush gently over his skin.

“Oh gosh, are you lot excited about the Valentine’s dance we’re having this year?  I’m so chuffed that the school realized that leaver’s day isn’t the only reason we deserve to have a dance,” Eleanor says with a pitchy squeal, gripping at Louis’ hand tightly.

“And prom,” Harry notes, nearly tipping out of his chair.

“Obviously,” Louis sighs, finding other pieces of the restaurant to settle his eyes on.

“It’s in a few weeks, yeah?” Niall wonders, easing forward in his seat, ignoring the way Harry’s clinging to his arm to stay balanced.

Eleanor nods quickly, her eyes bright with excitement.

“I’m going stag,” Niall says nonchalantly, downing the rest of Harry’s flat beer.

“How appropriate,” Gemma sneers.  Niall nods at her with a pinched expression.

“You’re going, right Zayn?  I heard you already asked one of the girls,” Eleanor remarks, biting down on her bottom lip with a muted smile.

“Uh, yeah,” Zayn drags out, leaning away from Liam a little.  Liam tries not to stiffen, his head dropping, fingers balling until they bite into his palm.  He wants the band to play louder so he can’t hear Zayn when he says, “I asked one of the new girls, actually.  Perrie.  Um, she’s from a bit up north like Lou and me and, y’know, I thought it’d be fun.”

Eleanor nods adamantly, a gleeful spin to her smile while Louis stares off blankly at a few pieces of artwork adorning the walls.

Liam swallows slowly, keeping his eyes lowered.  His head feels congested, everything spinning into a washed out glow of blues and whites.  His hand shakes beneath the table, the one that Zayn’s hand used to cover.  There’s not a sinking feeling in his chest, no, that’s just the oxygen.  That’s just his body reminding him to breathe because, fuck, he’s _not_ jealous.

Liam Payne has no reason to be jealous.

He can’t be jealous of his best mate taking out a harmless, actually rather sweet girl to some stupid dance.  No, that would be selfish, foolish, the most daft thing he’s done since kissing Zayn against that stupid tree in his backyard.  That would be senseless and Liam, by far, is the most sensible out of all of them.  And it’s not making it harder for him to breathe, to think, to fucking _sit_ next to the one person who he trusts everything with because he’s not jealous.

Not one bit.  But, honestly, he thinks he is.

Maybe he needs some water.

“And Liam?” Eleanor wonders with a hum in her tone, a giddiness to her smile.

Liam lifts his head, a slow movement that feels like it takes all of his strength to do but he manages not to frown at her.  He manages to not make it painfully obvious that he doesn’t want to have this conversation, at all.  Not with her.  Not with any of them.

“Liam here doesn’t do social events,” Louis answers for him, a coolness to his voice that Liam’s almost grateful for.  Almost.

“Oh, but Liam,” Eleanor says, her tone decidedly sad and not the least bit put on.

“It’s not really my thing,” Liam says politely, shrugging.  He feels himself caving a little, too many eyes falling on him.

“You don’t have to mate,” Harry insists, a short nod in Liam’s direction that he’s certain is meant to be comforting but it’s not.

“You’re not really missing anything,” Louis declares, shaking a bit when Eleanor slaps his arm.  It’s a sharp sting, the way it cracks through the air, but Louis makes a conscious effort not to seem fazed.  It’s slightly impressive.

“Liam, are you sure?  It’s going to be brilliant and so much fun,” Eleanor says with a sparkle to her doe brown eyes.  She’s a princess waiting on her prince to sweep her away to the ball, a dream Liam knows he’s never had.  Not entirely.

“No, it’s okay – “

“Oi, the poor lad doesn’t want to go because he knows none of the ladies will go with him,” Niall hiccups out with a giggle, nudging Liam’s shoulder.  “Just like they didn’t show up for your fifteenth birthday, yeah?”

Liam flinches at the hard smack that rattles over the table and he’s not sure if it’s Harry’s or Louis’ hand but he knows Niall’s rubbing his head, a frown pulling at his cheeks while mumbling.  Liam feels Zayn’s arm tighten around his neck, the rough scrape of his incoming stubble against his cheek and he wants to sink lower into his misery for a moment.  He just wants to dip his toe in, remember that it’s never going to be all happy endings and dreams come true.

“I’d go with you if I could,” Gemma says, reaching past Harry and Niall to stroke Liam’s shoulder.  There’s something comforting in her grin before she adds, “I’d shag you properly in front of your whole year.  Show all of those shits what they’re missing.”

Zayn gasps, Harry sputtering on his beer while Niall groans hollowly.

“Gem,” Harry hisses, pouting.  “That’s me mate.”

“Oi, shut it Haz,” Gemma laughs out, dragging her hand back to pinch at Harry’s cheek.  “Not like I want to hear about my baby brother snogging this little leprechaun.”

“There’s nothing little about my – “

“Oi, Ni, _no_ ,” Louis warns with a pointed finger.  Eleanor’s already sinking down in her chair, covering her face with her hands.

“You’re intolerable,” Zayn laughs out, scrubbing his knuckles over Niall’s head.

“Bunch of tossers,” Niall grumbles, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.  Harry’s barely making an effort to placate him, still eyeing Gemma.

Liam drops his eyes away, watching the way his fingers look over that silly checkered plastic tablecloth, the material wrinkling and straightening beneath the pressure he applies.

“It’ll be a shit night,” Zayn whispers to him, his nose rubbing gently over Liam’s cheek, “especially without you there.”

Liam forces out a grin for him, holds onto it until it hurts.

It all hurts, but he endures.  It’s the one thing that draws the attention away from him, everyone but Zayn’s.  He doesn’t mind, the way Zayn’s narrowing his eyes, his expression almost incredulous.  He knows Zayn won’t question him now, their fingers interlocking beneath the table, but it’ll come.  It always does.

There’s nothing slow about what he does later.  It’s not amateurish or delicate or even remotely unsure.  His lips are wrapped firmly around the head of Zayn’s cock, Zayn leaning back in the cushy cushion of that old recliner in Harry’s basement with his hands gripping the arms and his legs spread wide for Liam to fit between.

They’d all stumbled back to Harry’s after Louis dropped off Eleanor.  Louis collapsed somewhere on the couch, mumbling sweet things into the cushions.  Gemma passed out at the kitchen table while making tea and Liam’s done his best to put out of his mind what Harry and Niall might’ve been up to in his bedroom – the muffled groaning and the unmistakable sound of a hand striking skin might’ve been some indication but he cringed to imagine the details.  He’s certain all of them were a bit drunk, if not fabulously tipsy and were too shitfaced on beer to even pay attention when Liam gripped Zayn’s hand and led him down those groaning wooden steps into the basement.

Zayn makes a noise in the back of his throat, his fist in his mouth to stifle his moans.  Liam’s tongue flicks over the head, slides between the slit before he’s moving downward.  He’s taking Zayn nearly into his throat without stopping, spreading his hands over Zayn’s thighs, fingers pinching.  He can feel Zayn’s shaking, the way he’s rocking his hips ever so slightly as Liam pulls back.  There’s sweat on his brow, his bottom lip raw from his teeth pressing just a little too hard, and Liam’s licking the precome from his lips.

“Fuck Li,” Zayn breathes out, everything sounding husky, a slide of smoke in his voice.

Liam grins up at him, accomplished.  He wraps his large hand around the base, gripping it tightly before sliding against the slickness of his salvia.  It pulls another shudder from Zayn, Liam leaning down to tongue just beneath the crown, his tongue a flicker of fireworks like he knows Zayn likes.

Fuck, he knows Zayn loves it, the way his fingers curl into the arm of the chair, his breathing a bit heavier.  He’s done this enough times to know where to roll his tongue, how wet Zayn likes it, the way to hollow his cheeks when Zayn’s prick is deep enough in his mouth.

It’s filthy, the way he rolls the head over his lips, sinking back down on Zayn’s cock.  The scent is dark, heady, musky – everything Liam wants it to be.  He pushes himself, bobbing quickly, trying to pull the come from Zayn.  Trying to leave himself lightheaded, dizzy with the sensation until he’s not thinking about Perrie.  He’s not thinking about the way Zayn looks at him.  He’s not worried about his best mate being just that – his best mate.  Nothing else.

Never anything else.

He pulls off with a _pop_ , swallowing as much as he can while stroking Zayn’s cock.  His knees ache, his cock is straining against his jeans, and his wrist is a little tender from all of the movement.  His mouth is gaping, watching the way Zayn’s eyes are incredibly dark, his teeth biting at his lip again, his hips shifting while trying to thrust into Liam’s tight fist.

Liam watches for too long, something sparking in Zayn’s eyes.  He looks at Liam with adoration, attention, affection like he can’t feel this way without Liam.  Like his world is spinning out of control like Liam’s.  Like he’s falling in… _No_.  Not that.  Zayn’s not even close to that.

He slips back onto Zayn’s cock, loosening his jaw, pushing it against the softness of his cheek.  He feels Zayn’s hand on the back of his neck, encouraging but never pushing.  There’s stinging tears at the corners of his eyes, his throat opening, and yeah, he’s going to remember this.  He’s going to remember the sound of Zayn’s voice – broken and aching – and he’s going to feel the burn on his knees in the morning but he doesn’t give a shit.  He licks around the head and suffocates all of his thoughts long enough to feel the sting of Zayn’s fingers on the back of his head and the way his heart pounds rhythmically in his ears.

“C’mere,” Zayn says, breathless, pulling at Liam’s stupid _Iron Man_ t-shirt until he’s pulling off of Zayn’s cock, looking up curiously through wet lashes.

“I’m busy.”

“Babe, c’mere,” Zayn huffs out, pulling a little rougher until Liam’s standing, stumbling forward between Zayn’s legs.  “Let me taste you.  Fuck, Liam, let me lick your arse.  Let me lick you and use my tongue and, shit, Liam I need to.”

Liam’s wide-eyed, his words caught on his tonsils and he’s shaking while looking down at Zayn.  He’s shaking and not stopping Zayn from unfastening his jeans, tugging them until they’re around Liam’s thighs while Zayn rubs incessantly at his cock through his pants.

It’s a dizzying whirlwind how it all changes.  He’s gripping the arms of the recliner, bent over, Zayn’s tongue licking into him.  There’s sweat sliding down his spine, his fucking jeans and pants around his ankles and Zayn’s doing incredible things with his tongue around Liam’s hole.  In Liam’s hole.  Zayn’s tongue is pressing into his hole and he’s trembling, biting on his bottom lip, his bicep, anything to muffle that moan that’s been threatening to slip out since Zayn’s mouth first touched his backside.

He feels wet, Zayn’s salvia sliding down the inside of his thigh, his shoulders slumped forward.  Zayn’s finger was been circling the rim, his lips kissing around his hole, teeth biting at his cheeks.  His breathing is rapid, uneven.  His lungs are on fire, his muscles tense and his hole keeps clenching when Zayn breathes on it.  And it crosses his mind, amid all of the jealousy – yeah, he will admit it fully now – and the confusion.  The idea that he’d let Zayn slide into him, here and now.  He’d gladly give up that last stretch of virginity to Zayn because, fuck, he wants to.  He wants Zayn.

He thinks he loves Zayn.

“So tight babe,” Zayn whispers, his breath drawing up goose bumps over the back of Liam’s thighs.  “You look so good like this.”

Liam hums, letting the sharp burn of Zayn’s finger sliding into him settle against his nerves.  He struggles not to choke on a breath, his fingers aching from that grip they have on this beat up, old, dusty recliner that he kind of hates.

He gasps, his back arching when Zayn slides a second finger in and he’s hissing with the slide.  He’s wrinkling his brow, pushing back on those fingers.  He’s groaning when Zayn dots small kisses up his spine, across his shoulder blades, waiting until Zayn’s lips touch his shoulder.

“So tight.”

“Yeah,” Liam breathes out, doing his best not to clench down on those fingers when they move deeper.

“Tasted so good,” Zayn adds, his voice slick with arousal, wavering with a grin.

Liam groans, the sound deep in his chest, calming when he feels Zayn’s other hand on his hip, fingers pressing into his skin.  His lips are on the back of Liam’s neck, gentle, gentle, almost there.  He’s lightheaded, floating on this ecstasy, letting all of those haunting thoughts die on the floor beneath his feet.

He’s leaning back against Zayn, eyes shut.  Zayn’s cock is sliding, bucking between his cheeks.  It’s a slick motion, Zayn’s cock still wet from Liam’s mouth, from his own spit before he palmed himself.  His fingers are digging into Liam’s hip, his other hand wrapped over the one Liam has on his own cock.  Zayn’s mouth is on his neck, leaving behind little marks that Liam won’t be able to cover up in the morning.  He won’t have a jumper big enough, a scarf made of enough material.

“Liam,” Zayn hisses into his ear, nudging at Liam’s cheek.  “Babe, kiss me.”

Liam fights against his need, shaking his head.  He’s focused on that bubbling in his belly, the way Zayn’s dull nails pinch against his skin.  He wants it to be just this – passion.  Lust.  A carnal need.

“Li,” Zayn whispers, digging his fingers in a little firmer.

Liam wheezes in a breath, shaking.  His bottom lip trembles and he can’t fight it.  He doesn’t want to.

He cranes his neck, lets Zayn kiss him slow, languidly.  He lets Zayn’s tongue brush over his bottom lip, teeth gripping it for a playful tug before they’re pressed together again.  He moans into Zayn’s mouth, loves the way it tastes of smoke and cider.  He loves the way it burns against his heart, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks while Zayn deepens the kiss.

Come spills over his hand, over Zayn’s fingers.  It drips to the floor below, down Liam’s thigh.  He feels the hot, stickiness between his cheeks, on his lower back.  It’s nothing but collide, crash, something starting a blaze in his stomach.  He keeps his lips fastened to Zayn’s, both of them trembling, shivering through it all until they’re spent.  The kisses are slower, lazy but neither one pulls away.  Not yet.

Liam lets himself waste away in that kiss because he’s not certain if Zayn understands all of the things he’s trying to say without words.

He’s not sure if Zayn can hear him crying out for more.

**

It’s not a bitter cold, not like January was.  February is a little warmer, the air thicker with a humidity that shifts along that striking breeze, that downdraft that has most people shivering but Liam thrives in it.  He sticks to thick jumpers, warm pullovers rather than heavy coats with scarves and gloves.  If he can, he’ll get away with a hoodie that’s half-zipped and a comfortable t-shirt beneath.  He tries not to live the month in sweats – unlike Louis who seems to have abandoned all forms of stylistic points in order to wear scruffy beanies and joggers whenever the occasion doesn’t call for tight, rolled up jeans and button-downs – but they’re comfortable, give him more freedom to move around in when he’s going for a run, working out, or kicking the football around like he is now.

The thing is Liam doesn’t do dances or parties or anything that involves a rather large crowd of people pretending to like each other long enough to secretly get drunk or snog in the corner somewhere.  He’s a social person, by all means.  He takes to conversation like Zayn takes to art – with as much gusto as he can muster.  He’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen, bad jokes and stupid anecdotes included.  He can be a flirt – albeit a bad one according to Harry – and he’s not a complete wreck when it comes to girls.  He’s not much of a drinker – silly things like having one kidney can do that to you – and while he doesn’t mind standing around Zayn while he huffs a quick cigarette before school, he doesn’t really fancy the scent of cigarettes and weed like the other boys do.

He’d like to think he’s a pretty good dancer, unlike Harry who moves like he’s the shitfaced frontman of a rock band or Niall who’s taken to copying whatever crappy moves he’s seen done by famously uncoordinated guys in cheesy teen films.  He’s smoother than Louis – if you could call what Louis does dancing; Liam doesn’t – and he’s not nearly as stiff as Zayn, who hates to dance.  Hates it with a passion.  It’s something Liam smiles at, the way Zayn avoids anything that has to do with finding rhythm, moving like the wind over water, pretending to not care while being cool.  Which, ironically, makes Liam wonder even more why he’d agree to go to this silly Valentine’s Day dance.  Why Zayn Malik would ask Perrie to go with him, to a dance, to do things that he hates to do like socialize with people from their year, spend a night without smoking, having to actually, you know, _dance_.

Yet, Zayn did.  He asked Perrie.  He spent the week fretting over whether or not he was supposed to buy her some silly flower because it’s what Louis was doing for Eleanor.  He asked Harry to come over to help him with his hair.  He looked nervous, jittery, uncharacteristically anxious with sweat slicking his brow and his teeth biting his lip raw every time Perrie walked by with Jade, waving her cute little fingers and smiling at Zayn.

 _Liam’s_ Zayn.  Well, Liam’s best mate Zayn.

Fuck, he’s still trying to adjust to this jealousy thing.  It leaves a sick feeling in his stomach and, honestly, he thinks he should just get over it.

He should just go out with that girl – what was her name?  Danielle? – Gemma offered to set him up with for the weekend because chasing silly feelings he has for his best mate is going to ruin him.  Or ruin them.

The sky is a nice faded blue, darkening, paling, sliding into that royal purple hue that Liam loves.  He knows it won’t be long before it rolls over everything, overtakes the landscape.  It’ll be a thick, dense darkness that’ll set the stage for twinkling lights like white fireflies – the stars.  The temperature will cool off some, not much, and he’ll be sitting on his bed, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, watching whatever silly show is on his telly or maybe having another go at _Wanted_ – he likes the comic book better yet Niall swears by the film, Harry too, but that’s no doubt the Angelina Jolie effect.

He won’t be thinking about silly things like whether Harry’s wearing a silly bowtie with his blazer tonight or whether Niall will spend more time trying to spike the punch bowl rather than dancing like a manic idiot.  He won’t wonder if Louis will whine through most of the songs because they’re insanely cheesy – Louis wanted to hire his own DJ for the affair but their head of year said otherwise – songs from the 90’s or, dare it happen, something from the John Hughes collection.  Liam doesn’t laugh to himself at the thought of Niall and Harry bopping together through OMD, Oingo Boingo, or Simple Minds.

Liam’s certain he won’t be clutching onto his duvet, chewing on his thumbnail, scrolling through his phone to avoid thoughts of pretty, beautiful, perky Perrie with her arms around Zayn’s neck, her wildly pink-blonde hair resting against his chest with batting lashes and crystalline blue eyes.  No, he doesn’t want to imagine Zayn’s fingers holding her hips gently, swaying on the floor to something cloyingly slow and purposeful with a smirk on his lips.  He doesn’t want to imagine Perrie’s pretty lip gloss smeared, her dress hiked up, and Zayn easing into her behind the school because that’s what boys do.  Teenage boys.

Boys that weren’t Zayn.

He swallows back a sigh, dribbling the ball up the driveway, keeping his head bowed while the street lamps flicker on and the night seeps in.  His teeth bite into his lip, catching the ball on the toe of his trainers.  He bounces it a few times, kips it up onto his knee, balancing it.  He kicks it up to the garage door, pulling at his jumper as the football rolls back.  It’s easy for him to envelope himself in this kind of focus.  It washes everything away for a moment, his toe catching the side of the ball, watching it lop sideways before he’s catching it with the inside of his foot.  The air thins out, cooler, and he keeps his head down with the dying haze of winter kissing his cheeks.

“So you’re really not going, huh?”

Liam loses his focus for a second, the ball sliding away from his foot before he’s stopping it with his heel.  He blinks up at Nicola leaning in the doorway of the house with her arms folded over her chest.  She’s got a careful look on her face like she’s trying not to disturb him but, honestly, he wouldn’t mind.

“To the dance?” Liam wonders, pushing up the sleeves of his jumper.

Nicola rolls her eyes with a smirk, nodding.  “Obviously.”

Liam snorts, his hand lifting to push back the bangs that are no longer there.  Just sharp prickles scratching across the heel of his hand, a ghost of a sigh breezing over his lips.  He hears the soft howl of the wind, somewhere far off like his thoughts.

“No.”

“I don’t have to ask why,” Nicola remarks, arching an eyebrow.  It almost comes out as a question, the way she lets the words linger on her tongue.

“You don’t,” Liam says flatly, dragging the ball over the concrete of the cark park.  He turns a little, hoping she’ll walk away from what he knows she wants to say.

“Louis called,” she says, a bit loudly, stopping him.

He sighs, fingertips running over the nape of his neck.  “Nicola.”

“Harry too.”

“Nic,” Liam hisses, narrowing his eyes at her.

She shakes her head, blonde hair flying.  “You might be a bit older, but you’re still a brat.”

Liam laughs, low and dry.  He rubs at the end of his nose, averts her gaze because he knows it’ll be heavy, judging.  It’s what older sisters do.  Ruth is kinder, gentler with him but Nicola is outright, upfront.  She sees everything though she rarely remarks about anything.  She bites her tongue because it always seems to fit the situation.  But she’s not without her own thoughts, her own view of every situation.

“I’m fine, Nicola,” Liam insists, letting brown eyes fall on her again.  She shoots him an incredulous look and he does his best not to shrink under her gaze.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen – the way you look at him,” Nicola mutters, leaning off of the door, a small smile surfacing over her lips.  “It’s okay.  Sometimes you can’t really control it.”

Liam swallows.  He swallows hard, does his best not to choke.  He rests his hands at his side, curling his fingers into fists to try and stop the shaking.  It does little to quiet the drum of his heart but it’s one less thing he has to worry about while Nicola smirks at him, not the least bit condescending with her expression.  It’s loving in only a way Nicola can portray.

“It happens Liam,” Nicola hums, rocking back on her heels.  She nods at him, knowing.  “It’s kind of sweet, you know, if you weren’t my little brother.  But it doesn’t mean you have to close out everyone else.”

He tries to fasten onto something other than confusion, that sinking heart that’s slipping from his chest.  He clears his throat, grasping at resolve before mumbling, “I’m not going to the dance.”

Nicola nods, once, blinking at him.  “It’s a good thing mum and dad love you then.”

Liam stares at her, his brow raised but she doesn’t stay long enough to explain.  She merely offers him a wrinkled smirk, winking at him before quietly shutting the front door, leaving him with the whistle of the wind and the thrum of his heart.

He’s nervously passing the ball back and forth between his hands when the first few stars flicker into the sky.  It’s not nearly dark enough but the shadows have blanketed the trees, scattered over the road.  He’s watching the front door, avoiding the looks he fears his mum will give him when he walks in.  He’s dragging his Converse over the cark park, hugging onto his determination not to let this stupid night sink into him.  His teeth keep slipping over his bottom lip, nipping gently, dragging his mind somewhere else.  If he tries hard enough, he can see a glimpse of the moon hiding behind a few of the dark clouds.  He can slide into something comfortable, memories of being younger, feeling weightless.

The familiar sound of wheels dragging along the sidewalk pull him back.  One of the back wheels is off-center, scraping along the asphalt.  He recognizes the shoes putting a little more weight on the end of the skateboard, dragging it to a stop.  He can almost taste the smoke in the air, feel the way it rips at his mind for a few seconds.  He wants to believe he’s imaging it because it’s late and the DJ is probably slipping on something alternative or maybe with a nice bass to dance to.  There’s probably chatter all around, the lights dimmed, stupid glittery decorations hanging from the ceiling with paper hearts taped to the wall.

Liam takes in a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder, blinking as Zayn drops his foot down on the end of his skateboard, kicking it up into his hand.  He watches Zayn ditch it into the pale green grass of the yard, scuffing his shoes as he moves up the car park.  He’s got a soft smile on his face, cheeks shaven.  The top button of his shirt is popped, a skinny black tie loose around his neck, just hanging there and swaying with Zayn’s motions.  His crisp button down is white, the sleeves rolled midway up his forearms.  He has on nice trousers that Liam’s certain his mum pressed for him with a nice crease running up the center of each leg.  His black and white high top trainers – Zayn’s mum could fuss all she wanted but, if anything, Zayn isn’t going to give himself up entirely for a silly dance – drag along the ground as he moves.  His hair is soft, sort of hanging in a fluffy quiff with just enough product to keep it in place.

“What are you doing?” Liam asks, stuttering through his words.

Zayn stops, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.  “Walking toward you?”

Liam shakes his head, swallow thickly.  “No, you donut.  What are you doing _here_?”

Zayn shrugs, that smile prickling a little higher.  “Hanging with you.”

“You’re supposed to be at the dance,” Liam insists, tossing the ball into the grass, watching the way it rolls next to Zayn’s skateboard, resting against it.

Zayn bites down on his lip, drags the front of his trainer across the ground.  “Didn’t go.”

“Why?”

A sigh passes Zayn’s lips, his brow furrowing.  “Are you really going to give me shit about this, Liam?”

“Yes,” Liam hisses, his own brown wrinkling.  He’s not mad, though it comes off that way.  He’s just… _confused_.

“I’m here.  With you.  Is that bad?” Zayn wonders, tilting his head.

 _Yes_ , he thinks but his lips exhale a quiet, “No.”

Zayn’s smile eases back in, long lashes sweeping over his cheeks before he’s walking closer, stopping breaths from Liam.  Liam holds onto an inhale, trying not to cling to that warmth but he can’t help it.  Zayn smells great – cigarettes, citrus, and some neat cologne Doniya probably sprayed on him while he was getting ready.  He can feel the glow Zayn gives off, lets it tickle along his skin, his mind numbing for a beat.

“What about Perrie?” Liam asks after another swallow, finally breathing evenly.

“She was a bit upset, but not horribly,” Zayn mutters, another small lift of his shoulders.  “I think she’s in love with her best friend, anyways.”

“Jade?” Liam squawks out, his eyebrows coming together.

Zayn chuckles, waggling his eyebrows at Liam before nodding.  “Have you seen how they look at each other?”

 _Like you and me_ , Liam thinks, bites on the tip of his tongue to silence those thoughts.

“I guess.”

“They’d make a better couple than Ni and Haz, yeah?” Zayn teases, reaching out to brush a playful hand over Liam’s shoulder.  It lingers, those nimble fingers curling into the material of Liam’s jumper, pulling.

“Definitely,” Liam laughs out, unconsciously scooting forward until they’re closer.  Too close.  Close enough to hug, look into each other’s eyes, kiss.

“’m sure Jade’s a much better dancer than me anyway,” Zayn snickers, his nose scrunching.

Liam nods, ignores the way Zayn puts on a face of mock hurt.  He merely nudges Zayn’s hip with his hand, letting it rest there for a moment, trace over the starched material of his trousers.

He can see the glazed honey in Zayn’s eyes, the way they’re a pure, soft brown.  He can spot the strips of skin Zayn missed when he shaved, right at the bottom of his chin where the scruff sits.  He imagines the way they’d feel against his collarbone while Zayn kissed his neck, those fingers sinking into Liam’s skin.  He shivers, praying it’s the way the wind sweeps over them but the grass barely shifts and Zayn remains steady.

“You should still go, really.  Why spend an awful time here with boring Liam?” Liam teases, trying to sound playful but Zayn’s brow drops and he knows he’s failed.

“You’re not boring,” Zayn whispers, blinking at Liam.  His expression edges into something serious, endearing but hard at the edges.  “I’d spend every moment with you if I could.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes out, another step forward putting his feet between Liam’s, their knees brushing.  It pushes him close enough that Liam can taste the mint from his toothpaste, Zayn shifting just enough that their thighs touch, their chest almost colliding.  Zayn’s fingers tug a little more on his jumper, closer, their noses brushing.

“What are we – “

Zayn shakes his head, stopping the words dead on Liam’s tongue.  “I want to be here.  With you.”

“But,” Liam swallows hard this time, losing himself in the way the moon tips out, highlighting the shattered gold in Zayn’s eyes.  “But Zayn, what are we doing?”

Zayn laughs, soft and dark.  Their noses brush again, lips so close.

“You’re my best mate.”

“Is that all?” Liam squeaks out, tries to school his expression into something serious, determined.

Zayn shakes his head, biting down on his lip.  “Never was.”

Liam nods, but it’s not enough.  Fuck, it’s no longer enough and he feels himself falling apart right down the center.  His fingers are shaking on Zayn’s hip, his other hand trembling as it reaches up to rest on Zayn’s shoulder.  The pressure is light, just the right amount in case he needs to push Zayn back.  In case he needs to run away from all of this before he fucks it all up.

In case he needs to drag Zayn forward and kiss him until it is enough again.

“Zayn, I think,” Liam pauses, a deep breath inward, “I think… I mean, I like you.”

“I like you too.”  Zayn’s tongue licks out, wetting his lips, a sheen to his smile.

“More than a best mate.”

“Me too.  Have for a while.”

Liam blinks at him, eyes wide.  “Don’t dick around with me, Zayn.”

“Think we’ve sort of already done that,” Zayn whispers, a haunting chuckle following.  Liam sort of wants to punch him.  And kiss him.  Punch him first though.

“I want,” Liam shivers when Zayn’s hand finds the small of his back, pressing inward.  “Zayn, I want – “

“Tell me,” Zayn demands, bowing his head a little closer.

Liam’s eyes slide shut, Zayn’s forehead pressed to his.  “I want to be more than just your mate, you know?  Like it’s all I think about.  I think about kissing you.  And then I think about someone else kissing you and I hate it.  I hate that I want to be the only one you pay attention to or the one you tell everything to.  And I sort of feel like a prick because I want you to fucking kiss me all the time and tell me I’m more than just the mate you kiss for fuck’s sake.  I want to be the guy you kiss because I’m all you bloody think about too.”

His breathing is ragged when he stops.  He keeps his eyes closed, feels everything rush out of him and suffocate him just that quickly.  He wants Zayn’s hands off of him, wants to look away because if he opens his eyes, he knows Zayn’s not going to look at him the way he’ll look at Zayn.  It’s too much, too fucking much and then Zayn’s lips are pressed to his.

Zayn’s kissing him.

His best mate, Zayn, has his lips pressed softly against Liam’s and he’s opening his eyes because it’s the only reminder he has to breathe again.

Zayn pulls back, licking at his lips, an eased grin on his lips.  His thumb rubs gently over Liam’s bottom lip, the pad smooth.

“I wanted to ask you to that shit dance,” Zayn says, his voice airy, smoky.  “I wanted to go with you but I didn’t know if that was okay.  Not that I give a shit what any of ‘em think, but I know you do.  I know you care and you do all that you can not to be different from any of ‘em.

“I wanted to get all dressed up, ride my stupid skateboard to your house and have your mum take us to that stupid dance.  I wanted to wear a fucking tie, Li.  I wanted to hold your hand and buy you a stupid rose and, fuck, Liam I just wanted to be there with _you_.”

Liam’s not sure if he’s breathing.  He can feel the air ease into his lungs, can hear the loud exhales but he’s not really sure if he’s absorbing the oxygen into his blood.  He’s not certain if he’s doing anything but staring at Zayn blankly, trying to find some sort of focus.

“Zayn,” Liam mutters, something like a smile gripping his mouth.

“Sometimes I wonder what you’re thinking.  I wonder if, I don’t know, I’ve gone too far,” Zayn says slowly, his fingers tapping out a beat against Liam’s spine.  “If maybe I should stop things before I muck it up.”

Liam snorts, shaking his head.  “You couldn’t.”

“I thought I did.”

“You’re too perfect,” Liam teases, watching the way dim blush kisses Zayn’s cheeks.  It’s faded against the dark of the sky but he knows it’s there, can almost feel the heat from it when his fingers run over Zayn’s jaw.

“’m not.”

“We’re idiots,” Liam says with a short laugh.

“’m not.  It’s your fault.”

“It’s not,” Liam says with another chuckle, easing back some.  “You’re a bad influence.”

Zayn sighs through a small snicker, his lips quirking sideways into a grin.  “That’s what best mates are for, yeah?”

Liam’s lips lift into a grin.  “And so much more.”

“Enough of that.”

Liam shakes under Zayn’s touch, his head snapping to look over his shoulder.  He blinks at Ruth, whose standing in the doorway with Nicola hugging her from behind, both grinning at them.  It’s a little unnerving, the way they’re cooing, giggling, seemingly unaffected by it all.  Like they’re okay with it.  Like they approve of it.

It’s almost as if they want this for him.

A few of the houses around them blink on their front lights, the ones on the inside winking out.  The sky is a rich purple, the cool sliding over them.  The street lamps are bright, the sidewalks highlighted by the glow and Liam can smell the fresh baked pies the housewives had made, the crisp scent of a dying winter, the waft of Zayn’s cologne beneath the smell of smoke.  Nothing about it feels out of place.

It feels like the world is settling around them and, for once, he’s certain of this feeling.

It’s Zayn.  In his mind, his heart.  In his breaths.  He thinks it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Mummy and dad want you two to come to the backyard,” Ruth tells them, clinging to that smile with the stars shining off her eyes.

“ _Now_ ,” Nicola adds sternly, her grin still thick.  There’s something teasing in the way she looks at Liam.  She knows.  She doesn’t always say it, but she knows.

The thing is he’s not really sure what he’s expecting when he his feet inch into the grass in the backyard.  Actually, he’s not expecting anything.  His mind is racing – sharp lines, blurred thoughts, his parents disapproving of the fact that he’s wasted nearly a year or so of his life being in love with his best mate.  It’s a bit fuzzy, the way everything rushes through his head like Zayn, his friends, liking a boy, falling in… No, there it goes again.  Black, empty thought that he’s sort of become great at burying in the sea.

But the thought kind of glows like leaves in the autumn with their shimmer, neat pinwheel effect when they fall from the branches, and the stars are a little too bright in the sky tonight.  Everything is a little too bright.

The back light on their house has always been sort of dim, running off a bulb that hasn’t been changed since Liam was a toddler.  It sort of just flickers there, choosing its moments to be particularly bright but mostly just a soft glow that does nothing but illuminate the steps into the yard.  Tonight, it’s chosen to shine insanely bright.  Or maybe it’s just Liam’s vision, or the fucking stars, because the yard is lit up and colorful.  It’s bright with paper lanterns strewn across the grass, dangling in the breeze from where they hang from weak tree branches that stretch out from the tree trunks with bony fingers.  Liam thinks they’re from that year his parents decided to celebrate their anniversary with a party at their house with a bunch of the neighbors, a few nearby family members.  Still, they’re an array of lively colors that offer haloing light across the yard, shining over the brittle grass.

There’s a few silly decorations on the fence, hanging from a few tree limbs – He thinks they’re from Christmas, maybe even St. Patrick’s Day – and that old, static-y radio is sitting on that plastic playset they bought Liam when he was five.  The music is loud and crackly in the air – _My love must be a kind of blind love. I can’t see anyone but you_.  It’s all cheesy, out of place, and something his mum is smiling brightly about.

Liam watches his father spin her around the yard, shuffling over the grass, dipping her with a hearty laugh.  They’re a glowing shadow of what they were years ago, Nicola and Ruth giggling while holding onto each other.  Zayn’s at his side, wide-eyed with his mouth gaping.  Their fingers tickle over each other, Liam chewing on his bottom lip, wanting to hold Zayn’s hand just to have something to grip onto when none of this makes sense.

He thinks he’s already there but he holds out, trying not to be swept up in the way his mum’s smile is never-ending and wide.

“Come on now,” Karen insists, waving them over, “don’t just stand around.  We did this for you.”

“For _me_?” Liam asks, a hand on his chest, his expression incredulous.

“Not for us, you donut,” Nicola teases, Ruth snickering into her shoulder.

“Shut it,” Liam hisses at her before turning back to his mum, blinking at her.

Karen nods solemnly, still spinning around the yard in his father’s arms.  They move lazily, lounging in the music, the cool of the air, the way it all seems meant for them and only them.

It’s the only definition of love he’s ever known.

“Why?”

“Don’t ask question, Liam,” his father chides, a stern expression turning a corner when Karen pinches his shoulder, admonishing him with a look.  “You might not want to go to some silly school dance but we wanted to bring it to you.”

“Cheesy,” Liam mutters, biting down on a grin.

“Corny,” Ruth cackles, still clinging to Nicola.

“But romantic,” Nicola says with a brilliant smile.  She sways to the music – _Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright_ – hugging onto her sister.  “I think that’s what mum and daddy wanted.”

Karen nods quickly, letting her husband spin her once, twice, giggling when he pulls her back into his strong arms.  They bob a little, circling around Ruth and Nicola with a flickering ease.  They burn like a flame, eyes on each other, dazed and youthful.

“You wanted this for me?” Liam stutters out, a cold feeling washing over him.  It warms, trickles away when Zayn’s pinky hooks with his, their ring fingers brushing.

He feels safe.  With Zayn, he feels incredibly safe.

“More questions,” his father hums, grinning when Karen slaps his chest.  Liam’s not sure if the teasing is meant for him or her.

“Yes, Liam, dear,” Karen sighs, letting her husband take the lead, a clumsy move that has them nearly tripping over a lawn chair before they find some sort of rhythm that works for them.  It’s sweet, the way he leans in to press a kiss to her cheek, whispering something that has her giggling.

“Still gross,” Nicola mumbles.

“Incredibly,” Ruth giggles.

“I might throw up,” Liam adds, fumbling with a grin.

“I think it’s lovely,” Zayn says, his voice a bit choked.

“You’re weird,” Nicola says, sliding her eyes up and down Zayn for a second.  She offers him a tight grin, one that softens when he shrugs.  “But I like you.”

“I love him,” Karen calls out, chuckling when her husband accidentally steps on her foot.  She takes the lead, guiding him back through the yard and away from the trees – _I only have eyes for you_.

“He’s quite the chap,” Liam’s father adds with a grin, nodding his approval toward Zayn, then Liam.  “’m proud of you, son.”

“I’m not,” Nicola says mockingly.

Liam shoots her a glare, his lips pursing while she sticks her tongue out.  They’re still children, fighting over the last piece of his mum’s blueberry cobbler.

“Yeah, he had it kind of easy,” Ruth says with a teetering smirk, “he got lucky with his best mate.  He didn’t even have to go on all of those awful dates where the guy smells like too much cologne and the horrible restaurants.”

“Don’t forget the shit goodnight kisses.”

“Nicola,” Karen hisses, wrinkling her brow with her worst attempt at a motherly tone.  Liam knows she’s too giddy with the way her husband is laying quick kisses against her cheek.  “Watch your language.”

“Well, they were,” Nicola grumbles, making a face.  “Lads never know where to put their hands.”

“Or their tongue,” Ruth giggles, shrinking a little when Karen gives her the same look she’s passed onto Nicola.  She pretends to look off at the lanterns, the grass, the way the decorations dance against the slow breeze.

“Besides,” Nicola sighs, chewing on her lip while looking at Zayn, “He found a good one.”

“He’s so _pretty_ ,” Ruth teases, pinching at Nicola’s arm.

“And _fit_ ,” Nicola adds with a nod.

Liam ripples with blush, doesn’t bother to look at Zayn because he’s certain he’s a shade darker, eyes on the floor.  He slides his fingers between Zayn’s, lets his confidence grow while his mum looks at them.  There’s nothing malicious or disapproving in her eyes.  She smiles and that look is… it’s _heartwarming_.

“Well, go on you lot,” Ruth insists, shooing at them with her hands.  “Get out there and dance.”

Liam fights against the knots in his stomach, shifting his weight from foot to foot.  His breathing is doing that thing again where it’s uneven, in, _in_ , then out.  He feels Zayn squeezing his hand tightly, a little too tight, and he’s too busy gnawing at his bottom lip to look at anything other than Zayn.  And Zayn, who’s got that nervous look in his eyes like all of the lights are going out and he just needs Liam to cuddle up to him.  Zayn, who’s doing more damage to his bottom lip than Liam is, has large eyes and that tinge of uncertainty flashing like bright lights.

He doesn’t know why he sees the pastel blues, the bright greens, the orangey pinks but he does.  He sees the lights, the stupid decorations, the cheesy atmosphere that means the world to his parents.  He sees Zayn, teeth nibbling at the corner of his lip, long lashes outlining those eyes that he’s gotten lost in enough times to know he could do it all the time.  He could do this.

He gives Zayn’s hand a small squeeze, watching the way the lights glow around him, and he breathes in a deep breath.  He licks his lips, Zayn’s eyebrows coming together, and he gives him a little tug.

“Dance with me,” Liam asks, sounding more like a demand.  He’s not leaving Zayn remove to fight it.

Zayn twitches, looks at Ruth and Nicola, the yard, the stars that seem to be circling above them.  He gives a small shrug that’s not really an answer but he thinks it’s Zayn’s answer.  His eyes flicker over Liam’s lips, his eyes, his lips again, pulling back a little to squeeze out a smile.

Liam smiles back, nodding.  He pulls again and Zayn doesn’t resist but there’s hesitation.

“Yes, come on,” Karen begs, arms lacing around her husband’s neck.  “This isn’t for us.  It’s for you two.”

Liam nods at her, leaning in the direction of the yard but Zayn frets, shaking.

“I don’t,” Zayn starts, swallowing quickly before dragging his foot along the grass.  He looks around quickly, teeth pulling in his bottom lip.  “I don’t know how to dance.  I’m not very good at it.”

Karen laughs gleefully, patting at her husband’s shoulder until he’s smirking.  “Oh, neither did this lug.  He was all two left feet and, have mercy, he was horrible.  He couldn’t keep in tune with anything, not even Sinatra.”

“I’m told that’s some sort of cardinal sin,” Liam’s father muses, hands on Karen’s hips as they sway slowly around the yard.

“Sometimes you just need a good lead,” Karen insists, a subtle nod toward Liam drawing up a smile over Liam’s lips.  “Trust me, it’s not about _how_ you dance.  It’s about what you _feel_ when you’re doing it.”

Liam waits, feels the sweat of their palms making the surface slick.  He watches Zayn, ready for him to turn away, decline the invitation Liam’s offering with his eyes.  He’s ready for everything he’s built up inside of himself to finally crumble.  He bites down on his lip, big brown eyes flickering over Zayn while the music swirls – _The moon may be high but I can’t see a thing in the sky_ – and his parents ease around everything like it’s the last dance of the night.

It’s that moment when you’re a kid, waiting on that person you’ve been crushing on all night to finally say _yes_ and sway back and forth on that dance floor like that spotlight is just for the two of you.

Tonight, with harden hesitation, Zayn gives Liam that.

Their feet drag over the grass, the dirt, until they find somewhere in the middle of the yard where the lanterns are brightest and the moon spirals above them.  It feels so silly – the way Liam’s smiling at Zayn, the way Zayn’s slowly lifting his arms until they’re around Liam’s neck.  It’s childish and cheesy and Liam can’t stop himself from laughing when his hands settle on Zayn’s hips, sliding around to the center of his back where his fingers interlock.

He moves first, a slow rock that bobs side to side like the changing of the tides.  Zayn stutters into the movement with him, looking down at their feet, still sucking softly on his bottom lip.  The dip of greens and blues swirl around them, the string of cricket noises, the fading wind swishing before tapering off.

Liam scoots closer, their bodies pressed together, his breath coming light and calm.  Zayn’s head lifts, his expression guarded before he’s smiling, nodding at Liam.  Liam’s nodding back, tucking his smile, easing them into a circular movement until they’re creating their own small ring in the center of the yard.

Zayn’s fingers run lightly against the hair on the back of his head, his feet doing their best not to trip over Liam’s.  It’s a shaky sway, the break of a wave, but Liam folds himself around it.  He squares his shoulders, does his best to imitate his father’s easiness even though he knows his father is struggling to keep up with Liam’s mum.  He nibbles on the edge of his lip, dancing his eyes over Zayn, who hasn’t let his eyes flee Liam’s face since they shared that smile.

“’s nice,” Liam says, swallowing his nerves.  He’s shaky when he leads Zayn further down the yard, a quick sidestep that doesn’t come off smooth but he doesn’t completely fuck it up.

“Yeah,” Zayn says with a short laugh, nodding.

“A bit cheesy,” Liam notes, lifting his eyebrows.

“Kind of.”

“But I like it,” Liam adds, the wavering flicker of a flame in Zayn’s eyes.

“I do too,” Zayn sighs, lips spreading into a huge smile.  “I like it loads.”

Liam laughs, one of those laughs that shakes his shoulders and tightens his stomach.  He dips his knees a little, finding a subtle hum to the way he moves.  He lets his hands separate, rubbing at Zayn’s back until that tenseness that’s made all of Zayn’s moves rigid, almost unwilling fades away.

“Look at them,” Karen whispers, a poor attempt because they can hear her clearly.  Zayn’s cheeks dust up with blush and Liam lowers his head, shaking it with embarrassment.

“Couple of kids who look rather happy,” his father adds, dancing around Liam and Zayn.

“Happy in – “

“Not yet, Karen,” his father hisses, clicking his tongue against his teeth.  “Let ‘em figure it out in time.”

“Oh Geoff,” Karen sighs with a smile, letting him spin her once more.

Liam looks up, swallowing.  His breathing is a little ragged now, wide eyes looking on Zayn.  He watches a smile pulse against Zayn’s lips, Zayn leaning in before resting his chin on Liam’s shoulder.  Liam sighs out his own smirk, pressing the side of his head to Zayn’s.  He lets his eyes slide shut – _You are here and so am I. Maybe millions of people go by, but they all disappear from view_ – while Zayn settles a hand on his hip.  Liam blindly finds Zayn’s other hand, interlocking their fingers while guiding them closer to the trees.

“Liam,” Zayn says softly, leaning up on his toes to press a light kiss to the corner of Liam’s mouth.  He waits a beat, his lips resting there, Liam’s fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.  “I love you.”

It’s like neon behind his eyelids.  It’s a hot spark right in the middle of his heart.  It’s a rollercoaster, the height before the drop, right along his belly.  His fingers tingle, his mind whirs, and he should be doing anything other than smiling.

He can’t stop fucking smiling.

He pulls back, cheeks aching, and he smiles at Zayn.  It’s not a response, it’s nothing.  It’s just a smile but it’s something that makes the corners of Zayn’s eyes crinkle, his nose scrunch, and his tongue licks out to wet his lips before they ease into a smile half the size of his own.

“I always thought I’d say it first,” Liam says, his words low, almost too quiet against the sound of his heart in his ears.

Zayn shrugs, melding into confidence as he takes the lead.  He steers Liam around a few of the lanterns, the stars aligning with them.

“Just thought I would say it because – “

“I love you too,” Liam says quickly.  He doesn’t need to hear the rest.  The rest isn’t important.  These four words are.

He thinks it’s the only thing that matters for the longest time.

Liam leans in, waits for a beat or two.  He gives Zayn a chance to decline, an opportunity to tell him no because, honestly, his parents were still around.  His sisters too.  But Zayn’s smile brightens, his eyes ease shut as he inclines toward Liam and there’s a burst in his head when their lips touch.  It’s soft, instinctual, and Liam loves the way the glide feels.

He loves the way his lips feel at home against Zayn’s.  He feels dizzy, everything around them a blurred backdrop of pinks, blues, greens, a purple sky.  It’s just a hazy pinwheel of colors and Liam falls into it like he’s fallen in love.

He kisses Zayn, their dance slowing, and all Liam can think is he’s in love.

This is what being in love feels like.

“Oi, it’s about time,” Louis calls out.

Liam draws back, shocked, Zayn’s lips hanging on for a moment to kiss at Liam’s cheek.  He looks at those steps leading into the yard, the ones now crowded by Louis, Niall, Harry, and Eleanor.

“It’s so pretty out here,” Eleanor gushes, fussing with the pale sea foam taffeta of her dress.

“Where’s the punch?” Niall barks out, doing his best to sling an arm around Harry’s shoulders but Harry’s taller and leaning back to take in the scene.  Liam thinks he can spot a flask peeking out from the pocket of Niall’s suit jacket, grinning and nodding at Niall.

“Oh, so _that’s_ who he’s in love with,” Harry whistles, running his fingers over his cherry lips.  “I get it now.”

“Dickhead,” Louis mumbles behind a cough, elbowing Harry hard.

Zayn giggles into Liam’s cheek, his head shaking but he’s not pulling away.  He’s drawing Liam further in like he wants Liam to himself.  Like he wants everyone and everything to go away – _I only have eyes for you_.

“The music’s crap,” Louis remarks, hugging Eleanor from behind, kissing the back of her shoulder while she secures her hands over his.  They look like they’re posing for a picture at prom, cheesy as the silly decorations.

“Louis,” Karen hisses, a warning in the way her eyebrows set.

“I mean it’s fantastic,” Louis cheers, a wide smile on his lips with bright blue eyes.  She gives him an incredulous look and he does his best to look innocent.  It’s an awful attempt.

“Sweet moves Mr. Payne,” Harry calls out, shucking Niall into a half-embrace with a grin that’s all cheeks and dimple.  They lean into each other for support, rocking on their heels and Liam knows either they’ve shared one of Harry’s blunts or that flask can’t be completely full anymore.

“So glad we ditched that other crap-fest for this,” Niall adds with a nod, raising a defiant fist in the air like he has something to prove.  It’s ridiculous and completely Niall.

“Oh hush.  The decorations were neat,” Eleanor fusses, swaying to the music with her brown hair pulled up and Louis’ chin on her shoulder.  She’s got a tinge of pink to her cheeks when Liam looks on her, her own nod of approval toward he and Zayn making him duck his head.

“They looked like they were done by five year olds,” Niall says dryly.

“Or Louis’ sisters,” Harry giggles.  He knocks his shoulder with Niall’s, two idiots on a quest for nothing.

“Or someone who was high off of paint chemicals,” Louis snaps, jerking his head in Harry’s direction.  His gelled back hair barely moves, a feat Liam’s certain Zayn taught him.  “Which reminds me, Haz, how many joints have you smoked in the last hour?”

Harry’s mouth opens to say something, Niall shaking his head.  Whatever it is dies in Harry’s throat when Karen lifts an eyebrow at him, something pliant and innocent replacing that scowl he once had.

“Boys,” Nicola hums with a grin and a shaking finger.  Her look isn’t disapproving but she’s putting on the best show possible for her parents.  “Not here.”

Liam laughs quietly, tightening his arm around Zayn.  He nuzzles his cheek to Zayn’s, doing his best to tune them all out.  He listens to Zayn’s quiet breathing, moves in the direction Zayn leads them.  He can feel the tint of his cheek when Zayn kisses softly at his mouth, opening up for Zayn.  Zayn’s hand tightens on his hip, a warmth Liam vibrates against, and he’s smiling into the kiss.  He feels lightheaded and his stomach coils when their noses bump and their teeth click together.  They’re drowning out the sounds of Harry and Niall laughing, Louis making obscene noises, and they’re leaning back in.

A quick breath of the fresh night air, something light and patient in Zayn’s eyes, and they’re kissing again while the world dances around them.

It’s a little later, when his parents are inside, his sisters still on the steps teasing Harry and laughing at Louis, that this feels somewhat complete.  It feels ridiculous and like a breath of relief because he’s shifting his fingers through Zayn’s hair without a care.  He’s pressing kisses to Zayn’s pink cheeks while Eleanor fiddles with her dress and Ruth coos at them, but they all know.  He knows.

He knows that he and Zayn are best mates.  And more.  So much more.

“Suppose this is going to make lie in’s at yours and mine a little less frequent,” Zayn remarks, pulling Liam’s hand from his hair to kiss at his knuckles.

Liam chuckles, buried beneath that beautiful purple sky with the stars flickering in and out.

“Maybe a little less locking of doors, yeah?” Liam says playfully, rubbing his nose along Zayn’s ear.  The stubble from Zayn’s chin catches along his collarbone when Zayn presses a kiss to his birthmark and he doesn’t mind the burn.

“But a _lot_ more sex,” Zayn teases, winking at Louis when he secures his arms around Eleanor to spin her into a dance.

“Loads more,” Liam laughs out.

It feels so natural, the way they seem to fit together, right here, with the world splashing away like the ocean lapping at the crest of the beach.  Like all of those kisses, touches, moments where it was white hot passion and bleeding through their systems until all they saw was each other.  They’re just teens, falling over and over.  But it feels _real_.  It feels like something that was just waiting to be noticed, picked up and held on to.

He realizes, with Zayn in his arms, leaning against that old tree, the one filled with memories from being desperate adolescents, – _their spot_ – that this is a feeling he can hold onto.  While watching Louis dance wildly around with a giggling Eleanor, Harry and Niall making eyes at each other like they’re seconds from snogging – or shagging, depending on how drunk or high they are – that he’s not going to let this go.  With Zayn’s lips pressing gently against his neck, whispering, “I love you,” until it feels like the only song in Liam’s head, he knows his parents were right.  He fits their fingers together and finds home in this warmth, eyes falling on their hands for a moment before looking away like this has been here for longer than they’ve known.

He knows what being in love feels like – and he can’t imagine not ever feeling this emotion again.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the mass amounts of cheesiness and fluff at the end. I don't know where all of that came from but, yeah, it's there. I also debated severely with working in a final scene where Zayn and Liam finally consummate their relationship but felt like the fic didn't really need it. I hope no one feels cheated (though I think I might still write a one off fic to continue that storyline so that scene can be included).
> 
> HUGE thanks again to Lea, Noel, and Safaa for letting me whine and complain to them. Been feeling really off about writing lately and just needed a good shoulder to lean on so thanks ladies :P
> 
> I hope this fic was enjoyable on some levels and not at all offensive to anyone. Thanks for taking the time to read it, hope it wasn't a waste... xx - Jesse.
> 
> Kudos are awesome, comments are mind-blowing so, you know, feel free...


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